There are memories of regret. It is these memories that you hold deep in your heart. You think about them every day, and every day you wish you had done something different. They are memories that you desperately want to share with some, but can't. They are the memories that are a constant reminder that you can't do anything right. And they are the ones that show their face, right when you had come to peace with the situation.

I remembered that face. The one of the abused wife. I had seen it over 10 years ago, but it was a face of importance. It was the face of her. Well, it was a look alike; the wife had red hair and brown eyes, instead of blond and green. She looked too much like the woman I trusted more than anyone. The mother of Kara.

Kara, my daughter. I had given her up when she was born. I couldn't afford a child. And, as much as I despise the system, I put her in it. I didn't deserve her. I didn't want my child growing up living off of nothing and having a mother with a murder gene. I had given her to a family I trusted. I picked them out of tons of others, but they were the one. She was safe.

Most people would hate me for what I had done. I had given up my only child. I hated myself for it too. I can never forgive myself for giving her up. It was my biggest regret. But she was happy. Happier than she would have been if she was with me. It took me a long time to realize that, even longer to accept that. It was when I let her go was when I lost all my ties to Earth. Now she was back. I desperately hoped that she wasn't in the same situation I lived through during my childhood. After what I saw today I needed to be sure she was okay. But I didn't know how to find her. I hadn't seen her in years, let alone knew what she looked like. And after all these years, I couldn't even tell the father that he had a daughter. The father who hated me.

I heard a knock on the door. It was persistent and loud. I wasn't in the mood for talking, so I wasn't going to. Kara had popped back into my life again, and she didn't even know my name.

"SARA, OPEN THIS DOOR NOW!!!" hollered a voice. It was Brass. He made me open the door. He would knock it down if he had to. My wooden door creaked open to reveal his face. He didn't look happy. Then again, he didn't look angry. If he wasn't angry, why was he yelling at me?

"We need to talk."

"Jim, I'm fine." I told him. He didn't believe me. I didn't blame him. He was always able to detect my lies.

"Sara, are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"You always say that."

Do I? I never really noticed. I'll have to change that.

"Sara, we have a problem."

"If the problem is Grissom, I don't want to hear it." I was getting up already, for Brass was a close friend of Grissom's and a lot of the times, his messenger.

"It's not Grissom."

I sat back down.

"Sara, is there a reason that you are listed as next of kin for a young girl? The girl's name as I recall is Kara."

Kara. The name that was always on my mind. Now more than ever. Why was he talking about her next of kin, what had happened to her "mother"?

"Yes, I am her next of kin, what about it?" Yes, her adoptive mother, Liana had listed me as Kara's guardian, if anything happened to her. It was one thing I liked about her.

"Sara, the mother of the girl has died of cancer. The paperwork for the girl went to the lab. Ecklie owed me a favor and so he gave the papers to me. Sara, the wife from the case today; she looks like the mother. What's going on?"

"Where's Kara?" It was the only thing on my mind.

"At the hospital, why?"

"I'm going to pick her up." I stood up and grabbed my jacket. I started walking to the door when he stopped me. I was going to find my daughter, no matter what the cost. I gave Brass the death glare, the one that would send most the guys in the lab hiding for cover. He didn't budge. Stubborn ass.

"I'm going with you."

"No, you're not." There was no way I was going to suffer through his "You should have told Grissom" speech, and his questions in one car ride.

"Yah, I think I am. You don't know what hospital to go to."

Brass was an ass.

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