Day 12

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My dad showed up one last time.

He wanted to see me one last time.

Six police officers escorted him.

I tried to pull all my strength and dignity I had despite the baggy eyes, limp hair, and yellow skin.

"Goose."

I bit my lip. "What?" I pretended not to understand.

"I always called 'goose' when you were little," my dad said. He wore simple slacks and a prison jacket. "Looks like you're going to finally spread your wings an fly like I told you you'd always do one day. Your brother will take good care of you."

He was my dad.

He is my dad.

I might never see him again.

But I didn't care at the time.

"Fuck you," was all I said before leaving the room.

65 Days Left ||   P.JMWhere stories live. Discover now