He didn't need to look at a calendar to know what day it was. It seemed like this day would be forever imprinted in his mind -on his bones.
It was her birthday, a happy occasion that was never happy. Last year he had made her a single paper flower. He had bribed a guard, using nearly half of his Pungac funds to get the two pieces of paper.
When he laid it on her desk he promised himself that this time next year he'd be giving her a hundred of them.
Now he wouldn't even give her one.
Michael sat in the sand staring out at the ocean, his hands linked before his knees.
A hundred wouldn't be enough.
He needed to think of something that could make up for all the wrongs he'd done her. Michael dropped his head as a tear ran down his face.
Nothing could make up for what he did to her, not flowers, not chocolate, not jewelry.
Nothing could make up for leaving her.
