Poppa Too by Michael Anthony
At the end of the month my apartment was empty. The place I raised my little girl, where she learned to pray, swim, ride her bike, learned to use her computer, the dwelling that filled her with joy; was no more. My stay here was over and it was time to move on. Locking this door for the last time I realized that living here without her, knowing she was gone and there was nothing I could do to bring her back home was the most tormenting, miserable and hopelessly helpless time of my life. > Page 113