Orphan. The word had always evoked feelings of pity and sorrow, and faced with a grieving child those feelings were as real to him as any other. But he knew now that he had never truly understood the word, never even begun to comprehend the finality of its meaning.
Both his parents. Gone. He was alone.
It was ridiculous; he knew that, to consider himself an orphan. He was a grown man after all. And yet the word haunted him, permeating his every waking thought.
Orphan.
The rational part of him knew these thoughts to be deceptive. He had, after all, been bereft of a loving parent since he was fifteen years old. No one to turn to, no one to soothe his fears and praise his achievements.
But still it tormented him.
Orphan.
His mother, dead. The alcoholism that had stolen her from him had taken his childhood as well as her life.
His father… his father. Revered. Acclaimed. Absent. He had abandoned him – them – when he was needed most. And for that he could not be forgiven.
And Chase had not forgiven him. For that he could not forgive himself.