I was an hour late for work this morning. Ended up sleeping right through my alarm, and waking up to a much-less-frustrated-than-expected call from my store manager.

I receive a call not too long into my shift from my mother, who is having a nervous breakdown over the phone. She tells me my father has done something unforgivable. She tells me a sequence of events that transpired last night, and between my stomach turning and the bile rising in my throat, I can feel myself trembling.

Keep your voice steady.

I won't tell her how I bit back all signs of emotion until a co-worker of mine came in to start his shift and I was finally able to slip away. I won't tell her how alone I felt scrolling down the list of names and numbers programmed into my cell phone and realizing there's not one of them I can turn to. I won't tell her about the embarrassment I endured while calling nearly every other manager to get today's shift covered so that I could be home for her, or how as my voice fails me time and time again, my heart sinks another step while another fellow employee becomes aware that something's wrong. I won't tell her how I began writing my future blog entry on the back of a spare deposit envelope because writing--just writing--was my only true solace, or how I cried over her in the back room until an associate had to come in and see what was the matter.

I won't tell her how I failed to be strong.

An hour passed. I was still on the clock, and there were still customers left unassisted.

Put on that smile you do. Get back to work.

I wash my face before putting on another, and I go out there and do my job, regardless of how the missed minuscule trails of dried salt crinkle against my skin with every helpful smile.

I get a hold of the closing manager and I manage to leave an hour early. The police were in the middle of taking my parents in for questioning when I arrived, and their cars are parked neatly across the street for the world to see. The weight of the cul-de-sac's collective stares bear down on me from behind front porches and second-floor curtains, but I can't seem to bring myself to care.

I receive a call not too long after from my father, who is gaping in bewilderment over the phone after hearing the voicemail I'd left him earlier about how I no longer recognized him as a parent. He tells me my mother misconstrued everything because reputations cannot recover from such accusations, and with the pending divorce, there's money and custody on the line. He tells me he does not have it within himself to do something so grotesque, and between my slowing heartbeat and the mercifully numbing haze washing over my consciousness, I can feel myself not knowing who to believe.

Today in real life my faith is collapsing within itself, and there's nothing there to cushion the fall.