It was stupid. She knew it was stupid when she sat down. He was always away on business, and she would always be disappointed with him when he returned, but she always stayed up and waited for him anyway.

The front door opened just then to reveal Joseph Pulitzer, in the flesh. A tired, mean looking man with too much scruff after his day of travel, resigned annoyance at the peachy wash of the lamplight she was using to read.

“Katherine, dearest, what have I told you about waiting up for me?” His voice was gruff, rumbling through his chest and through the room in a way that made him feel larger than life. “You will sleep like you’re told, no exceptions.”

“But I—“ She started, but any protests were snuffed out by his sharp look and the resounding sound of his nice shoes echoing on the marble and the softer sound of him walking up the carpeted stairs.

She bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling, sniffling slightly. Her wide, brown eyes glistened with crystalline tears as she clutched her novel close to her chest, stood stock still while she tried in vain to shake off the disappointment she should’ve expected. She knew better. Two tears managed to break free, tracing perfect lines down each of her cheeks before she blinked away the mist in her eyes and dabbed quickly at the moisture before it stained.

“Goodnight, father.” Her voice didn’t break so much as shatter, like glass against marble. The last was barely a broken whisper, so quiet she could barely hear it herself. “I love you.”