She looks up, a puzzle piece falling out of her hand.
A hint of a frown mars her face.
She is used to this by now,
And yet it isn't the same.
He picks her up, hugs her
Bright smile, a contrast against his sad eyes
The quotidian questions are asked
It is rote to them by now
One question always stays in her head
One she knows not to ask now
“When is Mommy coming home?”
She’s a kid, but she isn’t curious anymore.
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