Father lost his job, though he never said why. A few days later we came home from school to find Father dressed in rough work-man's clothing, he hadn't shaved in a couple of days, and at first, Marie-Anne thought he was some sort of robber. He'd been in a fight, that was apparent. Then he told us that he had to go for a bit, but that we should be safe enough, from what he didn't say.

He then hugged my sisters, first Marie-Anne, then Marie-Leah, to each he whispered something that I didn't hear and didn't try.

For a long moment he and I looked at each other as the snow fell around us. “I know,” He said looking at me. “That you can take care of things, Laura.” I nodded solemnly.

“Be strong for them,” he whispered to me, as he pulled me into a hug. “Be brave. If anyone can get us through this—it'll be you.” Then he walked off down the street.

What we hadn't known as we sat down in the living room, after father was gone, was how much it would take to get us through this. And how much “This” there was.