Siddhartha's Short Story: Scar

Scars, a short story
Part I
7 days later…
She had always loved her scars. Siddhartha, her father could see that. He had caught her one evening after returning from work. Instead of the pain, her daughter’s face had a sort of glow to it. He could relate. After all he was guilty of doing it as well during his teenage years. It had helped him to forget, it had helped him to cope. That is why he had not made a big deal out of it, and believed her when she promised not to do it anymore. After all, she had been through enough. Not just her mother’s death, but the constant moving, and the whole issue with being a teenager. If a few scars were going to help her deal with it, then so be it, and most importantly she had promised not to do it again,

That was when he finally saw the note lying on the glass table, just below one of the newspapers.
It was apparently a big thing. Trafficking girls from the rural parts of his country to the cities of India. Perhaps he should not have moved so often, perhaps he should not have moved to that place, perhaps her should have taken better care of her sister, perhaps he should not have been a carefree father, perhaps. . . Sophie stirred in her sleep. Sid checked his phone. It said 06:23 am. It was time to wake up. He did so quietly and went to the bathroom. A face of an old man stared at him through the bathroom mirror. He washed his face, brushed, and then went to the kitchen. He checked the fridge which barely contained anything. The carton of milk was almost empty, he emptied it in a bowl and added some of Sophie’s fruity cheerios. Nessie was already up, and she stared at him jealously while he ate his cereal.
He fed her some of the leftovers and inspected his fridge again to see what he could cook for Soph. He decided to cook some rice and fried eggs like he’d been doing for the last two weeks. He knew that he needed to do some shopping. Maybe tomorrow. He’d need to ask his boss for another prepayment