After he killed my daughter, he knelt down and begged me for forgiveness

I was inflating a tire at the auto repair shop when my phone buzzed.

A friend request popped up: "Have you made enough of a scene? If you have, come home."

The profile picture was a candid of me performing in Vienna years ago.

Looking at it, I wasn't angry. I laughed.

Five years. To him, these five years were nothing but "making a scene."

He probably thought I was still the Alex Henson who'd come running the moment he crooked his finger.

Even through the screen, I could picture his expression.

I wiped the greasy fingerprint off and tapped Accept.