Emma

Tears well up in my eyes the moment I open the old book again. 

My hands tremble as I hold it carefully, almost afraid it will fall apart in my fingers. 

I stare at the page where my father’s name is written in neat, faded ink, and beside it, a date that means nothing and everything to me at the same time. 

That single line is all I have of him, just a name and a date. With nothing more.

A tear escapes, falling onto the paper, and it spreads slowly, staining the words like a dark cloud over his name. I sniff hard, trying to pull the sadness...