What You Didn’t Know

You see a mother and her daughter —

Both smiling, both beautiful, both whole.

What you don’t see is the message sitting in her pocket,

Telling her her husband isn’t coming home from war.

And she’s still trying to figure out

How to break a child’s world in one sentence.
 

You see a wealthy man walking past you,

Nice suit, steady stride, no visible worries.

What you don’t see is the silence waiting at his house.

The divorce finalized.

The custody he lost.

The bedrooms that still look like his children never left.
 

You see a girl laughing at something on her phone,

Hair perfect. Makeup flawless.

What you don’t see is how long it’s been since she ate.

Or how she curls into herself at night,

Trying to cry quietly enough

That no one asks questions.

You see a man with a briefcase,

Good career. Big home. Stable life.

What you don’t see is where he’s really going —

To stand beside a tiny casket

Because his daughter decided

The world was heavier than she was.

And still,

You compare your life to theirs.

You wish for pieces of stories

You were never meant to see the ending of.