It was a weekend afternoon, and I was walking with my daughter in the park downstairs. The sun was warm and bright. My daughter ran across the grass, chasing butterflies, her laughter clear and light.
I sat on a bench, watching her from behind, and felt a quiet peace I had never known before.
Suddenly a shadow fell over me, blocking my view. I looked up and saw Rhys Keaton.
He looked worse than he had in the courtroom. His shirt was worn and old, unbuttoned at the collar, and he reeked of strong alcohol.
"Clara…" He stared at me, his eyes unfocused, his voice thick and slurred with drink.
I frowned and stood up, stepping between him and my daughter. "What are you doing here? This isn't your scheduled visit day."
"I… I've missed you." He stumbled forward, reaching out as if to pull m
