CHAPTER 9
“Fearless of making mistakes, yet afraid of losing…”
COLIN ADAMS
Yesterday was one of the saddest days of my life—though once upon a time, it used to be one of the happiest.
Contradictory, isn’t it? I know…
Late last night, I lay in my daughter’s bed, her picture pressed against my chest. I’m man enough to admit I cried my damn eyes out until morning.
I’ll never accept the way I lost Maddison. It hurts so much to think about what happened that I barely have the strength to leave this room. Today would’ve been her birthday, and my heart feels shattered knowing she’s not here with me.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Daddy loves you, and he’ll never forget you.” I kissed her photo and broke down all over again.
I hated crying. God, I hated it. But I couldn’t stop myself this time. And if I could have her back, I’d promise to smile at everyone—even if they insulted me. Sounds stupid, I know, but I’d do what’s been impossible for me until now… and I wouldn’t complain once.
I glanced at the clock—past eight already. I’d spent hours in her room, and I knew I looked like hell, but I didn’t care. Some pain you carry alone, and I knew this one would follow me to the grave.
Most people can’t understand the pain of losing a child. It’s beyond explanation. It’s supposed to be the child who buries the parent—that’s hard enough. But when a parent has to bury their own child…
No, there aren’t words for that kind of pain. Watching a life so young be cut short by a mistake or a moment’s hesitation—there’s nothing that compares.
I finally left her room and went to the bathroom. I needed to wash my face. I was a wreck—spent the whole night crying.
“Pull yourself together. Breathe,” I muttered to myself, hoping it would help.
After a few minutes, I headed back toward my room, still holding her picture. I just needed to sleep. But as I turned the corner, I saw a tiny figure standing in the hallway—looking completely lost.
“Hi, mister.”
I nearly jumped out of my skin.
“Uh… hey.”
It took me a second to place her—I couldn’t even remember Isabelle’s daughter’s name. And seeing her there startled me, especially since one of my rules was that no one was allowed near this part of the house.
“I don’t know where I am,” she said, looking up at me. “I wanted to go to the bathroom, but I got lost. This house is really big, mister.”
I smiled.
It wasn’t her fault. The mansion is huge, and she’s so little—of course she got lost.
“It’s okay. I’ll show you where it is.”
“Okay.”
Without thinking, she slipped her hand into mine, and for a moment I froze. How long had it been since I’d held a child’s hand? I couldn’t even remember—not since my son’s…
No. Don’t go there.
I swallowed hard, wiped the last traces of tears from my face, and gently took her tiny hand, guiding her down the hall.
“Hanna, right?” I remembered her name after a few seconds.
“Mm-hmm. You’re my mommy’s boss, right? I forgot your name.”
I smiled again.
“My name’s Colin.”
“Oh, okay. And what about her?”
“Her?” I asked, startled.
“Yeah. The girl in the picture you’re holding.”
I froze. I hadn’t even realized I was still holding my daughter’s photo.
For the third time, I couldn’t find my voice right away. Finally, I managed to say, “Her name’s Maddison.”
“Is she your daughter?” she asked curiously as we walked toward the bathroom.
“Yes.”
“Oh. I’ve never seen her here before. Maybe if I find her in this big house, we can play together?”
How could I possibly explain to her that Maddison wasn’t here anymore? That I was one of the people responsible for her death?
I stopped walking, and Hanna immediately turned her attention to me, her expression puzzled. I crouched down until I was at her level.
“My daughter… she died after an accident.”
That was all I managed to say. I had to fight hard not to fall apart after those words left my mouth.
“Oh. I’m sorry, mister.”
Before I knew it, the little girl reached up and patted my head gently, as if trying to comfort me.
What the hell was happening right now?
“Y-you’re… it’s okay,” I stammered, too embarrassed to say anything else—or to figure out how to handle the situation.
I had no idea how to act around a child. So I said the only thing I could think of to escape the awkwardness I’d landed myself in.
“How about we go find your mom?” I said, standing up and breaking that small, unexpected moment between us.
“Uh-huh.”
I took her tiny hand again, and we started walking to look for Isabelle—but the whole time, something inside me felt… off. Unsettled.