It was raining. His daughter, now fifteen, stared daggers at him. But he could not stop. It pained him, but he must finish the eulogy. In the coffin before him lay his wife. He looked at her for the last time. She looked so peaceful. Had she known what he was doing, would she look the same? And his daughter, she was so beautiful. She looked exactly like her mother. It was like she was reborn in her. But that same daughter who laughed as they played now hated her father.
“It’s your fault!â€? She screamed at him, as they walked away from the burial site. He agreed. Who was he? He had pushed her away, fully submerging himself into the life he had come into. He had killed her. She had no will to fight the disease that destroyed her. Death had come willingly.