Evening fell—Papa returned,
Storm in step, and fire in eyes.
In the dim-lit room, he saw
A little girl curled in silence,
He touched her head—
A tired stroke, half-love, half-lost.

He saw her doll—tattered, torn,
Matted hair, a bruised cheek, a wounded lip.
His temper sparked, his face turned flame—
“Just yesterday, I brought her home with joy—
What ruined her so soon, this toy?”

The little one shrank, breath held tight,
The smile that danced an hour ago
Now vanished, hidden in fright.

With trembling hands, she lifted the doll,
Her voice a whisper, heart in it all:
“Papa...” she murmured, eyes tracing the floor— 
“I was making her like Mama looks...
After you close the door.”