I saw him. There’s no mistaking him. Beside the peppery gray hair and the stubble around his mouth, he looked the same as he was twenty years ago.
How dare he showing up all these years later?
I remembered visiting him in prison but he refused to see me, his 14-year-old daughter. “What are you doing here?” I said icily to him when he arrived backstage with a bouquet of roses.
“I came to see you.” He answered with a small smile. “My darling girl is a drama teacher. I’m so proud of you.”
I scoffed. That ship has sailed.
This story is written for 100 Word Wednesday.