Daisy
When Daisy—she refers to herself as that whenever she's in LA; it's the nickname her husband gave her a long time ago—hears the news of her son found in the dumpster of some club in the city, she crumbles to the floor.
It was her estranged husband who informed her. He came into the room she was using and told her, bluntly, that their son had been killed. Her first instinct was to throw the bedside lamp at him, but the pain crippled her. All she could do was sit on the carpeted floor and weep for her son. She had weeped for him before, when he was arrested, but at least she knew he was alive. Now, he's dead. The last time they spoke, she expressed her disappointment and oh, how she regrets that. Had she known that that would be the last time she would ever hold her son, she wouldn'
