I’ve got regrets. Lots of ‘em. Should’ve been a lawyer. Or a salesman. Anything but a cop.

Cooper was sitting at his kitchen table, staring at the .357 on the table. Bullets were scattered around it haphazardly. Six chambers, but about twenty bullets.

He smirked.

Yeah, I’ve got regrets. But none like that night. What a thing that was.

Cooper watched the rain crashing on the grill out back. Should’ve covered it. he thought

He glared back down at the gun. It looked heavy, its dull finish a contrast to the pine wood it sat on.

“Dammit.” he cursed himself through restrained tears.

His right hand reached out and picked the gun up. He popped the cylinder out to the side and slowly dropped five bullets into the chambers, one at a time, leaving one chamber empty.

It seemed heavier tonight. Heavier than that night.

Cooper lifted the gun up to his temple, shifting the grip in his hand. Finally, a tear fell.

“Daddy?” came a small voice from behind him. “What’s wrong?”