I stared at my father as though I'd never seen him before.
The man standing in front of me wore Richard's face.
He had Richard's voice.
Richard's eyes.
But somehow, he didn't feel like my father anymore.
My chest felt painfully tight and every breath scraped against my lungs.
"Don't you regret your actions?" I finally asked, my voice was barely louder than a whisper.
Richard sighed heavily and dragged a tired hand through his already messy hair.
For one ridiculous and pathetic second, I hoped he would tell me he'd lived every day drowning in guilt.
I hoped he'd say he'd ruined countless lives and wished he could take it all back.
Instead, he looked relaxed.
"No," he answered.
The word landed like a slap.
"I don't regret it one bit."
Everything inside me froze. "What?"
I bli
