Samuel Morse turned on the bathtub faucet and stopped the drain with a cork attached to a chain. He stood from his kneeling position on the tile floor and removed his white button up shirt. He turned and padded out of the bathroom and towards the kitchen. All of his movements like scenes in a script, he moved rhythmically, with purpose, not wanting to face what he was doing. He looked at a picture on the wall of his family, him, his wife and their beautiful baby girl, all three of their smiling faces shining through the glass. He turned away with tears in his eyes, how could he! How could he have let this happen??? His thoughts pulled him back to yesterday morning, it had been like every normal morning, the family got up, groomed, Lydia washed the baby in the sink and they played with bubbles and drew on the mirror with their fingers, their laughter echoed throughout the house whilst he brewed coffee and read the morning paper in the living room. It may have begun normal, but it certainly didn’t end normal! Tears rolled down his face as he thought about the call from the police… an accident they said… AN ACCIDENT? THEY’RES NO SUCH THINGS AS ACCIDENTS! His wife always said something like that in her speeches about suicide, abortion, bullying and such… she was always trying to help someone. Always fighting! “I love you sweetie!” his wife’s smiling face had said as she kissed him goodbye for work. “Wove, dada!” his baby had said. How could they. They wouldn’t if they had known… That their accident was his fault! If they had known that “daddy” was too lazy to change out the slipping breaks??? He yanked open the wooden kitchen drawer, its contents clattering toward the front of the drawer abruptly. He stared for a few moments, mentally beating himself up on the inside, before selecting a small paring knife. He looked at it for a few moments before slowly retreating to the bathroom. He sat down next to the tub, cut his wrist and slid his hand into the hot water. Steam was rising from the tub as he laid his head on the side, his tears mixing with the water. Something caught the corner of his eye and he turned his head toward the mirror. There, slowly coming into view on the mirror surface, becoming visible by the fog like breath to a window were two drawings. One big heart, one little heart. Written over them was a simple message. “I love daddy”. Samuel Morse turned off the bathtub faucet and left to get to the emergency room. I have no idea why everything is bold, nor why my twelve year old self wrote so many caps and question marks.