I might have been wrong.

If there was ever a semblance of me in Diane, it has finally surfaced since our last fight. Maybe it's always been there, but I've just been too stupid to see it.

Frankly, I didn't even know I had this trait: pride that both inflates and weighs heavily on my chest.

It's been three weeks.

Diane and I live under the same roof, but this same roof has not seen us talk in a while.

A lump rises up my throat every day when I pass Diane... Diana in the corridor.

She's... changed.

I never knew she liked her hair in a matte leather black. The redhead I knew is long gone.

Such a change...

Diane would never.

Yet, Diane would never go through the motions with life like this if her relationship with her daughter was in shambles.

I don't even know what she does these days.

How she's doing in school, what extracurricular activities she's taking...

She leaves in the morning and way beyond midnight, I hear the front door churn open and close shut – most of the time with a loud bang.

Something is bothering her, but I never ask.

Should I? I shouldn't.

She'll buckle first and come to apologize eventually.

I used to give Diana a curfew, but not anymore. She can take care of herself, right? Physically at least.

With more strength than she knows what to do with – and high intellect wasted elsewhere – she'll probably be fine.

If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

***

I maintain a rock-solid stance even though it's been a week since Diana came home.

I don't know what to think.

Does having a daughter who was once perfect in every other way, and suddenly turned to the 'dark side' inspire so much fury... and recklessness?

I found myself looking in the mirror a little too often now.

I'm back to being the guy who doesn't laugh... or even smile.

I'm reflecting on what could possibly have caused this breach between us. What have I not given? What did I not understand about having a kid when I decided to do it?

I find no answers in my own reflection.

I turn to the TV more often these days too. Hearing my colleagues talk about their budding relationships with their kids turns me into a dark cocoon of self-loathing.

I'm seated opposite the bright screen tonight, half-focusing on what I'm watching. I change the station.

Instantly my eyes bulge out like bulbs.

There's been a terrible fire fourteen blocks away and the fire brigade has just arrived on the scene, a little belatedly from the looks of it.

I don't know what spurns me at first, but before I know it, I'm out of the house, high-kneeing my way toward the location I just saw.

A part of me is burning.

What have you done now, Diana?

Please let this not be your doing.

What were you thinking?

That's all I can scream in my head.

I turn round the last corner and I can see the blaze still towering high past the brick walls and roof.

Many people are gathered.

All of them are murmuring noisily.

Ambulances have arrived, and I can see a few men heaving the injured on stretchers.

My heart sinks when I see Diana among the murmuring masses.

Her jacket is wet and burnt. Her face has dark stains. Her hair is singed here and there.

A few people from the ambulance are trying to get a good look at her, but she pushes them away.

I see her expression, and my face falls.

She looks furious.

Several people from the crowd try to talk to her, oddly emotional looks on their faces. She ignores.

She walks past them, and she sees me.

For a moment, we are both frozen in our respective places.

I'm the first to melt.

I can't tell why, but the sight of Diane... Diana brings tears to my eyes.

What was I doing when my daughter was in a burning building?

What couldn't I fix so that I could keep her close?

I imagine that she is going to walk past me and head straight home.

I don't care.

I have no idea what really happened here, but I have to hold her tight, even if she pushes me away.

There happens to be no need to though.

I blink and she's wound her arms around me, her face hidden in my chest.

I'm surprised, but I'm startled when in the next moment, she lets out an ugly cry that vibrates through my ribcage.

I can't.

Tears fall down my face and I squeeze her tight.

Immediately, I want to tell her I'm sorry for everything, but...

"She's dead, daddy. Elena is dead and it's all my fault!"

I quiver.

I don't know who Elena is.

That's my own fault.

I tell Diana it's all going to be alright.

It's all going to be alright.

It's all going to be...