My mother and father named me Diane when I was born and I grew up in a very loving family. We were happy most of the time, but when there was sadness, we consoled each other and did whatever we could to support each other.
I continued to live with dad after mom died a few months ago. I encouraged him to go out, make friends, and date. I keep the house clean and do the usual things to keep the household running. Dad did go out on a date a few times, but he seemed unhappy.
I have a boyfriend named Bill. My relationship with him became sexual after we had dated three times. We only date about twice a week because I like to go out with others now and then I often stay out late at night, but I always come home to our house to sleep in my own bedroom. I usually get up to make breakfast for myself and dad before we both go to our jobs.
One night dad came home after dating a girl. I had just returned home after being in bed with Bill. I could see that dad had a few drinks and he looked so sad.
“Dad, you don’t look so good.”
“Diane, I feel like hell. I think I need another drink.”
It was Friday night and we didn’t have to get up early in the morning. If he needed more to drink to get him to talk, no problem. I went into the kitchen and mixed both of us a drink.