“See you soon, Emma.”

“Goodbye, Daddy!” She hung up and I rearranged the party decorations for the umpteenth time, greeting the early guests and directing them into the living room.

Half an hour passed.

A whole hour.

Two.

I called Kevin, annoyed that he was pulling this bullshit of a stunt—as if it was even half as difficult as it had been for me, but there was no answer.

Upset, I dialed the police and they showed up to my door within minutes.

“Are you Liam Henderson?” They asked.

“Yes, I’m the one that called.”

I pulled the court order out of my pocket and explained what was happening, how Kevin was technically committing kidnapping, but they interrupted me.

They weren’t at my house to take a report.

They were there to give one.

As they calmly explained what had happened, how she was less than a block away when the car collided with a truck, my world stopped.

I asked which hospital she was being flown to, which route was the fastest to take, but the cops simply sighed and looked past me, as if they didn’t want to say anything further.

They didn’t have to.

Their looks said it all.

Emma’s funeral was held on a grey and wet day, another harsh blow to my chest. I sat through speeches from the few people she’d crossed paths with, from her young friends who had yet to fully comprehend what her death really meant.

My next door neighbor, a four year old named Hannah, said, “I hope you come back next week, Emma. You can come to my birthday party.”

I stared at the tiny casket as they lowered it into the ground, half of me wanting to jump in with it and risk being buried alive. At least then I wouldn’t have to feel anything anymore.

As the crowd dissipated one by one—tapping my shoulder and saying, “I’m so sorry for your loss,” as they left, I spotted Ava walking into the cemetery.

Flanked by two prison guards, she fell to her knees and bawled once she reached the uncovered grave.

“You made me late for my child’s funeral.” She cursed at the guards. “I fucking missed it...How cruel can you possibly be?”

“All furloughs have the same time constraints, ma’am,” one of them said flatly. “We couldn’t have left any earlier.”

She shook her head and continued to cry, beating her hands against the ground. As if she needed to distance herself from the guilt, she stood up and walked towards the podium, reading the papers that were left behind.

She broke down again and I walked over.

“Liam...” She held out her arms. “She’s really gone, isn’t she?”

“She is.” I refused to console her. “And it’s all your fault, Ava. Your fucking fault.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” She sniffled. “Don’t you think I feel that?”

“It should be you down there in the ground right now. It should be you.”

“Liam...”

“She didn’t deserve to be taken away from me and you know it.”

“I do know that...I was just—”

“Trying to prove a point? To do whatever it took to hurt me because you fucked yourself over and you wanted to bring me down with you?”

“We can get through this...We can still find a way to restore your name in this city, and you’re the best lawyer I know so...I know you can turn everything around and maybe help me too. Maybe forgive me?”

“I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you rot in prison, to make sure you never get out and that the parole board never gives you an ounce of sympathy.”

“You don’t mean that, Liam...”

“If I ever find a way to get away with murder, you and Kevin will be my first victims.”

The guard across from us gave me a look.

“Don’t be like this, Liam...”

“My name won’t be Liam for too much longer just so you know. It’ll be Andrew.”

“Are you leaving? Are you about to leave me here?”

“That should be you in the ground right now...” I noticed the funeral director stacking the chairs, mindlessly breaking down what was just another ceremony to him. “That should be you...”

One of the guards began speaking with the funeral staff, inquiring as to whether they should leave the premises or not. Noticing her time here was limited, Ava grabbed onto me. “Liam, I mean...Andrew. You clearly still love me because you’re trusting me with that...We can rebuild everything we had, we can start over, you and me...We can do this if you help me...”

I grabbed her hands and moved them away as one of the guards stepped closer.

“You know I don’t belong in prison,” she said, crying. “They’re transferring me to a permanent location next week...Save me, Andrew...Save me...”

I said nothing.

“If I could take everything back, I swear...I swear I would. Don’t you think I love Emma, too?”

“Loved,” I said. “It’s past tense now, don’t you think?”

She sighed. “Please don’t leave me...”

“I won’t.” I stepped back so the guards could escort her back to the van. “I’ll write...”

“Really?” Her eyes looked hopeful as she walked away. “Okay, I look forward to your letters...I look forward to fixing us...”

The rain picked up its pace, transitioning from a drizzle to a downpour, but I remained standing—unable to walk away from Emma. I re-read her tiny tombstone, crying as her face crossed my mind.

Emma Rose Henderson,

A Daddy’s girl, through and through.

Gone too soon,

But never forgotten...

I stared at those words for hours, letting the rain drench me to the bone. It wasn’t until the director informed me that the gates were closing, that I walked away.

Lost and heartbroken, I spent the next few months in a dizzying haze. Despite the fact that Ava was the one behind bars, the paper continued spouting her lies as facts, slandering me, and I didn’t even bother disputing it.

I didn’t have the energy.

I submitted written testimonies through lawyers I’d hired—knowing that eventually things would sort themselves out. I didn’t even care that Ava had hired her own high profile team to block me from getting a divorce.

I no longer gave a fuck about anything.

My firm collapsed before my very eyes—everything down to the sink-ware was sold off in parts, and in the legal community, the downfall became a warning, a tell-tale of what happened when status and greed consumed one of us.

I drank every morning, letting the alcohol numb my pain. And whenever I awoke from passing out, I drank again. It was only when I started drinking coffee that I could somewhat function well enough to get anything done.

Visiting the cemetery was too painful, almost as painful as stepping inside Emma’s room. So, I hired a few people to pack it away in boxes, telling them to leave out the “E” and “H” frames; I could bear to look at those since she’d hand-picked them.

For months, I mourned the life she would never have—attempting to make sense of it all. I knew deep down that I couldn’t stay here, but I couldn’t leave as the same man that I was; I knew that I’d never get over Emma, but I needed a way to cope. A way to slowly re-integrate myself into the real world.