I made Samantha cry again.
I wonder why I keep doing that. One moment, we are happy, and the next, stupid things like that have to happen. Invasion of her privacy. One of the many ways I crush her spirit. Over and over again. Thoroughly.
It began innocently enough. Walking into her room, laughing, crapping.. She was writing away in this little book, which I was not interested in, until she hastily closed it and tried to hide it. What happens next? The devil takes over. Curiosity killed the cat. But sometimes, just sometimes, the cat kills the object of curiosity.
I asked her what was so precious about that book (which was mine a long time ago, incidentally.) and she said it was private, personal. Like duh, so I asked what was so personal about it. Family? Boys? And all she deigned to reply was "personal". So I kept on holding the book away from her. She began to tear. Still curiosity (or the devil) held me in its cruel grasp. How easily, the heart turns to stone when its desires are not met, softening only when the sobs started to break through her stoic facade.
Shit.
So it was wake up, or screw up (even more). Wake up then. Did the necessary, hard though it was, and apologised, and returned the book (even harder). The one glimpse in that book will stay with me for a long time. The book's theme was loneliness. Her loneliness.
I guess I made it worse.