Her Goodbye [✔]

Two Minutes

Four days following Miss Summers death, Mr Summers, the father of the daughter, that plummeted to the concrete awoke on a Saturday morning, with his wife out of bed. He stared at the clock, four in the morning. He sighed. He had woke up this time yesterday morning, and found Maya's letter to her mother missing from the hamper, and burnt ashes on the kitchen table. He wasn't aware of the mess he was in at this point, but Mrs Summers came home at around six in the afternoon, the sparkles in her eyes nearly recovered.

Mrs Summers didn't look him in the eyes, instead she took off upstairs, and stayed in the bathroom for the rest of the afternoon. Since the news of his daughters accident, he hadn't felt quite the same, perhaps detached, or just lonely. His wife and himself hadn't been on friendly terms, mainly their relationship consisted of sleeping in the same bed, and arguing. He slumped to the floor of his bedroom, very agitated. Getting down the stairs was becoming a task, as he had no energy to do anything anymore.

His daughter was his life, and his light. She was gone.

He'd seen his letter yesterday and was more than ready to open it right then and there - believing that his daughter was dead and gone, and hardly had the power to stop him from opening it, but something in the back of his mind - a voice, told him to wait.

He looked towards the door of the kitchen, expecting his wife to be sitting there calmly drinking her mint tea, but found nothing. He found no evidence of anyone even living inside of his home. His younger daughter, of sixteen, and his son of four, were dead asleep, and nothing would wake either of them for at least another four hours.

Unlike his wife, Mr Summers didn't waste any time before opening the black envelope that held his daughter's handwritten letter to him. Even with the cloud of shame, and guilt hanging over his head, he tore open the seal and pulled out the letter hastily, gripping his hair before reading the words that were written in blue ink.

"Dear Monster,

When I was younger, I had these monsters in my closet, that mother would slam the door on because she could see I was entirely afraid of them.

When I was younger, and I told you of these monsters, you'd laughed. You'd laughed at the scared little girl. Then I realised that you were my monsters, because you scared me to death.

As I grew older, I grew to love and treasure you, because you were my dad and that's what I was taught. I'd met people without fathers, and they seemed so torn in comparison to me. Now that I think about it, they seemed less torn than I do now.

How could you do it? To me? To mother? To Henry and Tilly?

What possessed you to look at women's bodies, and decide you could destroy them? I'm thankful, that I was born first because I'm beyond distraught about how Tilly would handle you, because she wouldn't, she'd have died years before I.

You are a monster. A true monster,

And monsters are villains, Villains are always caught.

Usually in their own traps.

Maya."

Mr Summers was devastated at this point, and he wasn't fully sure it was because of his daughters' convictions, or his realization that he knew this letter would say what it did.

He grabbed the gun hidden under the sink, taped to the sewer pipe. He'd have been surprised if he didn't have to do this anyway.

Mr Summers didn't get a chance to pull the trigger while sitting in the back of his shed with a coffee mug pressed against his lips and the gun on his forehead. The police were called by his wife before he could give himself that chance.

Mr Summers didn't want this, but it's what his little princess wanted, and she deserved the best, and he'd always decide what was best.