The reason for tears is always UNSEEN and always ASSUMED.

...he saw the pain that would eventually seek me. He saw the hand descending upon me attempting to wrangle my heart out of its place. To stop it from beating. To keep it bleeding.
And, as if it was a band-aid...a simple cure, he handed me a music box.
"Careful, darling, it's quite fragile," his face was beaming and hopeful.
"Yes, papa." I said, and held out my two hands that were equivalent to his one hand---firm, strong, and selectively vulnerable. He placed it into my sweating palms.
"Isn't it just something?"
And he was right; I couldn't take my eyes off it.
It was constructed of glass and, as I released the knob, I focused on the turning wheels and teeth. Its' song was heavenly, sweet, and light. I smiled.
But what was even more delightful was the child and father waltzing, I imagined, in a ballroom with a wood floor. The child was looking up to her dad, in mid-spin, adorned in a white dress with gold trimming. The father was glowing in pride dressed in a white suit and a navy blue tie.
With the music, and painted smiles...they danced.
I became obsessed with this trinket for days that seemed like only hours.
I played its' song repeatedly until I had memorized every note.
It seemed such a fragile thing...not because of its' glass encasing, but rather...the situation in which the maker had crafted it in. A cheerful moment that could be broken in an instant.
They danced their way into my dreams for weeks.
The song was like air to my ears...it was vital.
I lay on my bed, one evening, stomach-down, staring at the dancing couple.
"Ella!" my mom called as I was humming along with the tune.
"Yes?" I called back.
"DINNER!" she exclaimed.

With the music box in hand, I ran to the kitchen.
I placed the music box on the table and waited for my plate.
I could smell the potatos and roast beef basking in spices and my mouth watered at once.
Then mom set the plate on the kitchen table, took a glance at me, and kissed me lightly on the cheek.

"Thank-you." I said and grabbed my fork.
She sat beside me, not eating...and her gaze fell on the music box.
She seemed alarmed and distracted.
Something had set her off. "Uhm...honey...could you please take your toy into your room? It doesn't belong on the dinner table."
With a mouth full of half chewed potatos, I replied, "Yesh, mom."
"Thanks..." she said softly...in a damaged tone.

I started the journey to my room with the music box loosely in my hand whilst chewing. The dance to my room was composed of a left from the kitchen into the dinning room, a few steps forward straight through, and a right into the hallway. I glanced at the music box and concentrated on the cheery father and daughter, just to make sure they were still in my hand---still in my control.

I was so consumed in my concern that I didn't notice the glass display stationed firmly in the middle of our grand hallway. Colliding into it, I lost grip of the music box.
No one was there to catch me...falling due to this spin. This twirl of misery.
On the verge of tears, my knees collapsed, and I fell to the hard wood floor. I gasped.
My fingers fumbled with confusion. I panicked.
They needed help. They needed to be fixed.
Miraculously, the father and daughter figures survived. However, there was a chip at the corner of the glass encasing. I was somewhat relieved that, that was all the damage.

Troubled at the thought that I could drop the music box again, I placed it on my bookcase where it would only be touched once a night.
Every night I would fall asleep to its' lullaby.

The glass caught dust but the music was always certain never to be obscured...it always knew its' purpose.

And this was what distracted me from the absence of my father...
what entranced me so much to not see the bags daddy carried on his back when he handed me the music box.
Then again, I'd rather not know...I'd rather not remember.

My eyes never knew tears. My ears only ever heard sweet songs. And the hand lingered...over my chest...waiting.


(So, this is an idea for a short-story I am writing...this is basically the gist of it. But it'll have hints about what the problem was between the mom and dad...and more description. And more things about the daughter. But...the point is...Once something of value breaks...you don't want to touch it again.)