A gun is pointed at my daughter’s head.
The man with the gun speaks, “Say goodbye.”
He wants me to say goodbye to my daughter.
“Tell her it’s going to be okay.”
A gun is pointed at my daughter’s head.
“Reassure her. She needs that right now.”
What do you say to someone who has a gun to their head?
“Is this who you are, when faced with adversity? You just shut down?”
A gun is pointed at my daughter’s head.
“Will you let her die without hearing your voice? Say goodbye.”
How do I say goodbye to my child? It’s not supposed to be this way.
“I’m getting tired of this.”
A gun is pointed at my daughter’s head.
The man pulls the the trigger.
The noise is deafening in the confines of our apartment.
In the relative quiet that follows, I whisper, “I’m sorry.”
A gun is pointed at my head.
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