After a few moments there was a light tap on the door followed by a concerned male voice. â€śCarla? Are you okay, Princess?â€ť It was her father.
Carla sat up on the edge of the bed. â€śNo Daddy, Iâ€™m not okay,â€ť she stammered as the tears continued flowing down her cheeks.
â€śDo you want to talk about it?â€ť he asked softly. â€śMay I come in, Sweetheart?â€ť
Always the perfect gentleman, she thought. Why couldnâ€™t Danny be a little more like him? â€śYes Daddy, please come in,â€ť she said.
The door opened and her father stepped into the room. He was about forty, but looked more like thirty and was the most handsome man Carla knew. When she saw him now, the sobs came almost violently and she made no effort to control them or wipe away the stream of tears.
Stan had never seen his daughter in such a state and silently prayed he would never see her like this again. He went swiftly to her, knelt on the floor before her and lifted her face to look into her eyes. â€śWhat happened to my precious girl to make you cry like this?â€ť he said gently. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close as she sobbed even harder onto his shoulder. â€śTell Daddy all about it.â€ť