Chaletastrophic

Summer after high school, when we first met We'd hang out in your mustang to Radio Head And on my 18th birthday, we got matching tattoos. I remember the day we first met. You were sitting in one of the corner booths at the diner where I worked, scowling at the blank sketchbook in front of you. I walked over to take your order, and ended up sitting and talking to you until the diner closed. You kept coming back every day after that. It took 2 weeks, but I finally got your number. You'd wait till I finished my shift, and then we get into my car and drive around for hours, listening to music. You sang along, loudly and not always-rarely-on key

I stared through the foggy window in disbelief. Inside the house, a man with black hair, who is siting on the couch, pulls a blond woman into his lap, a grin on his face. I can barely hear her laugh through the glass as he buries his face in her neck, tickling her sides. A little girl with the woman's- her mother’s- blond hair takes a running leap onto the couch, crawling next to the man. He let the woman slide off of his lap onto the couch, and turns towards the little girl. She crawls onto his lap, grinning up at him with a gaped-toothed smile. My stomach drops. Her eyes are the same bright purple color as his. He's her father. And lo