I'm Sorry

She brought me home without speaking in the rental car. I sat beside her in the passenger seat, staring out the window. I tried to remember what had happened last night, but my head hurt too much to think. After a while, I turned to look at her and began, "Sarah--"

She cut me off sharply. "You were drinking."

I sighed.

"Well?" She practically screamed. "What does it take for you to stop? Our daughter lying, nearly dead, in the hospital? I thought that, at least, might mean something to you."

"I didn't mean to, honestly. I was just going to have one--"

The car swerved dangerously as Sarah turned to glare at me again. "Three, Jason. You had three drinks. Large ones, too, and it floored you. Dave called me at six in the morning and said I had better come and get you. Well, I won't do it again. As soon as Arista gets out of the hospital, she and I are going to Texas to live with my folks. And if you think you can stop me from taking her, I'll go to court. I swear to God I will."

The worst part was, she was right. Arista needed to be away from me.

I sighed heavily. "You're right, I guess--then take her. I'm no father. I'm sorry."

I'm sorry, God, I thought. Please, I truly am.

The End

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