regret

'Get out of here and don't come back.' How hollow those words sounded now, echoing round his mind like a broken record. Had he even meant them? He could no longer recall, but like the words, it didn't seem to matter any more.

Ten years, almost to the day, had passed since Tracey had slammed that front door shut; years he had imagined her living life to the full with the man that had stolen his daughter away, years in which she had hated him for making her choose. Those years had not been without hope, how many times had he stared at that same door hoping for her return? For a chance to explain, to beg forgiveness.

Tears fell unchecked down his cheeks.

“We are certain it is Tracey, Mister Cummins...Perhaps if, no, it's been too long.”

“I have what you need.” David Cummins said, leading the officer to his daughters room, which lay as she had left it.

“We are charging her father...”

“I am her father.” David yelled. “That man donated fluids but I raised her for eighteen years. She was my little girl...”

“I meant to say biological father,” the officer said, shuffling papers awkwardly.

“Why did he do it?” David asked, quietly, not expecting a response.

“For the trust fund your wife's family set up.”

“I was supposed to protect her, yet I handed her over to her killer without a fight.” David said, his words beginning to slur now, as the pills took effect. “I'll get it right this time, precious, if you'll let me,” he whispered, laying down on her bed.

“Mister Cummins, can you hear me? What did you take?” The officer's frantic voice was saying, vaguely, until that too faded.

(Word Count: 291)