My Dearest Diary, It’s June 12th, and I’m nine years old. Today, the world went quiet. My Mom, with her laugh like wind chimes and her hands that always smelled of freshly baked bread, is gone. They say it was cancer. A big, scary word that means I won't get to hear her sing me to sleep anymore. Papa, my strong, wonderful Papa, held me tight. His shoulders shook, just like mine. My heart feels like a broken cup, shattered into a million pieces. You, my new diary, are the only one I can tell. You feel safe. You’re my secret keeper, my silent friend. I don’t know how to live without her. The house feels too big, too empty. Papa tries so hard. He makes my favorite Maggi, but it doesn’t taste the same. He reads to me, but his voice cracks. He’s hurting, I know. We both are.