“I can’t fucking do this!”

Joel cringed at the sudden grunt of frustration, quickly followed by a hollow thunk. Adjusting his glasses, he wondered whether checking on Brea in the next room was a good idea—or if it would only upset her further.

When the silence stretched on for several more moments, Joel pushed back his chair from the kitchen table and made his way into the living room. He found Brea awkwardly sprawled across the beige loveseat, her head resting heavily against its top edge, her fingers intertwined over her eyes as though shielding them from the dim fluorescent light humming overhead.

“This is such a waste of time…if I can’t even play an A cord how the fuck am I going to play all the other letter in the alphabet.”

Tucking his hands into the front pockets of his worn-out jeans, Joel huffed a soft laugh. Though her theatrics of frustration weren’t new to him, the exaggerated barrage of guitar chords felt like a feeble attempt to get her point across.

“Well, if it’s time you’re worried about, we have plenty of it,” Joel said, his low Texas drawl softened by quiet amusement.

Joel had hoped his comment would lighten the mood, but it only earned him a look of annoyance—the kind a dad might get after telling a joke to a teenager too embarrassed to admit it was funny.

Begrudgingly, Brea picked the acoustic guitar back up. She winced slightly as her left hand wrapped around the neck, her fingers settling against the strings. As she began again, an unfamiliar, overwhelming feeling washed over Joel. Losing a daughter had made him want to give up. Taking care of Ellie showed him that he was still needed and taught him how to love again.