Tik... Tik... Tik...

That annoying clock ticking again. I clenched my hands together, everything moving at a frighteningly fast pace, along with my racing heart.

Should I prepare for the worst now? Should I be scared that everyone will find out what happened?

I didn’t mean to hurt Papa. I never meant to cause anyone pain or trouble.

I know I should listen to Papa; I argued with him earlier today. I was stating the obvious: I’m no longer a little girl. I don’t need him to pick me up from school every day.

None of this would have happened if I had simply listened to him.

I closed my eyes shut. I can’t cry, I can’t. I don’t deserve anyone to help me. Everything is my fault. I should have called him to pick me up.

But… I always walk in that street why did it happen this time?

Still, it is my fault.

We live in a crowded neighborhood; Papa moved here when I was a year old. My mother died just before my birthday. He eventually opened his own small Moroccan restaurant, which was remarkably successful due to my father’s intense dedication and mesmerizing cooking skills.

Even though it was small, people from all over New York enjoyed it. It provided enough money for Papa to build us a stable life, and his name became well-known among locals.

Papa told me about his love for my mother. They were raised together and married in their freshman year of college. They were young and in love. He was pursuing a culinary degree, while she was pursuing a bachelor’s degree in nursing. An accident occurred shortly after my birth, resulting in her tragic death. Papa refused to tell me anything about their lives other than the headlines. His conversations were always about her.

Just her.

He always complimented my eyes because they reminded him of hers; we both had hazel eyes and curved lashes. She had raven black hair, whereas I had thick ginger hair like him. She was a beautiful woman; he always carried her picture with him, close to his heart.

We had a ritual in which we had to tell her picture good night before he kissed me on the forehead. I swear I felt her kiss a few times, but I kept telling myself it was just my mind playing tricks on me.

I wish she were here.

A strong shake on my shoulder startled me out of my thoughts. I turned to face the nurse who was speaking to me. She appeared to be even more terrified than before. What happened!?

“I’m very sorry kid, we have lost your father,” she squatted to reach my eyesight. When I looked around, I noticed that my aunt and grandmother were frail and pale. When they locked eyes with me, they had the same hateful look on their faces. My aunt quickly moved her gaze to the tall, suited man in front of her. He shook her hands and approached me. He stood next to the nurse, she cleared her throat, almost tripping, when she stood up and left.

The man looked at me strangely, with no expression on his face. “I’m sorry about your father, kid.” He looked at my aunt, and I swear I saw a fearful look escape her frowny eyes. He walked away without saying anything else.

My papa is gone! Why? I didn’t say goodbye. I didn’t mean to hurt him. I finally stood up, eager to see my aunt, who was still standing in front of the nurses’ front desk. “Where are you going?” she said angrily as she raised her hand to stop me.

“I just want to see Papa...”She raised her hand once more.

“You’ve done more than enough! What a shame!” She said this as she grabbed all the papers from the nurse’s hands, which were still terrified and pale, matching her blonde hair.