A prisoner on death row. A psychologist sent to evaluate the killer.
Who is at fault? The prisoner? Or the life they had and the troubles they went through? Our world is corrupt and we're only getting worse.
Warning: Dark themes are mentioned, but t...
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EPILOGUE
Harold walked up the stairs to the house and stopped at the wooden door. He raised a hand to knock, but couldn't bring himself to.
No. He had to knock.
He owed it to both of them. To Calandra and to his daughter, Ava. Taking a deep breath, he raised his hand once more and knocked sharply on the wood. There was noise inside the house and footsteps as someone came to the door. Quickly, Harold adjusted his suit nervously.
"Dad?" She said, opening the door. Her voice broke with emotion as she saw him.
It was her. It was his little girl. Ava.
"Ava," He told her, looking at her in wonder and pride. "I've come to apologize. I don't even know what we were fighting over, but I do know that it was probably my fault. I shou—"
He was cut off by her throwing her arms around him.
"I missed you so much, Dad," She sobbed, hugging him tightly.
"I missed you too, Ava," He told her sadly. He felt awful for being the cause of her tears. But he knew that they could help each other heal and fix each other.
Pulling back, Ava looked Harold, her big, brown eyes happy. "Why don't you come in, Dad? We have a lot of catching up to do."
"Yes, we do," He murmured, agreeing with her.
Before he went in though, he stopped and looked to the sky.
"Thank you, Calandra," He whispered. "And you didn't deserve it."
