Mel slumped on the sofa in the living room of his luxurious home, a warm beer clutched in one hand.. He thought wistfully, longingly of his daughter. He was conscious of what day it was: Katy had been gone 100 days today. He wondered when he would cease counting the days. Mel could still hear the last words she'd spoken before she...

With an impatient frown, he drained the beer and crushed the can in his fist, dropped it amongst the spent pile of containers at his feet. Angrily he wiped away another tear. Mel thought now about his own mortality. He thought to himself: I'm only 40; how can I continue for another forty years, pretending, going through the motions? He was a wealthy man, but that hadn't saved him from what happened. Was there a way he could end his misery now? Without the shame of taking his own life?

Friends counselled Mel to start over, to find new pursuits, to become involved with...what? He had lost his dear wife five years before Katy. Poor Connie. Mel shook his head sadly. What was or could become half as important as his girls? He thanked God for the rich memories, but it was a double-edged sword, reminding him of how much he'd lost.

He looked up as a key rattled in the lock of his front door. He wondered who it could be and was surprised to hear, "Hi, Dad, I'm home!
 

"What are you doing here, Katy?"he asked.

It's spring break" ,she said. "I told you. Don't you ever read your email?"

​

Bursting through the door in Katy's wake, a beautiful woman entered.

"Connie!"exclaimed Mel, agape.
"Close your mouth, Mel," she scolded lightly.

";What about work?" he asked. Dr. Connie Marx had gotten her license as a physician five years ago and was often busy.
"I'm here to see my girl" she explained. "And my man", she added with a smile.

Mel sighed, then considered what his shrink had told him about separation anxiety.

"It's good to see my girls," he said.