Copyright 2003 Frank Downey. All rights reserved. Any use other than personal archiving requires the permission of the author. Do not repost.

This story contains adult material. If this is illegal where you reside or if you are underage where you reside, begone.

She opened the door. "Michael? What are you doing here?"

"Hello, Susan. I thought we could talk."

She sighed. "I don’t think that there’s anything left to talk about."

"I love you. Isn’t that enough to talk about?"

"Michael, you hurt me, badly."

"I know that. I’ve apologized for it. I’ve tried to make it up to you."

She shook her head sadly. "Yes, you have, but it doesn’t cancel the problems. It doesn’t do anything about Kristie."

"Kristie’s my daughter."

"And she hates my guts."

"Susan, that’s her problem, and mine—not yours. She’s my daughter, and I’m the only parent she’s got—but she doesn’t run my love life."

"Coulda fooled me," she snorted. "She’s 15 years old, Michael—she needs to grow up."

"I know that. But that’s my problem, not yours."

"But…."

I cut her off. "Susan, I didn’t come here to talk about Kristie. I came here to talk about us. Kristie will work itself out if I present us as a fait accompli."

"Michael, it’s too late."

"It’s never too late. You love me. I love you. That’s what’s important."

"It should be what’s important," she said, "but it doesn’t seem to turn out that way."

"That’s because I blew it. I just want another chance. Please—can I come in?"

I stood at the door, waiting, while she thought.

--Fin—