Beyond Repair

The man was broken. That was all there was to it.

He was going faster than he should have, and he knew it.

He never meant for the brakes to stop working. How was he supposed to know? If there had been any possible way to save his daughter that day, he would have done anything to fix it.

Without warning, a small blur of sky blue dashed in front of the ATV, blonde hair blown straight back by the wind, waving her short arms wildly.

After being convicted of involuntary manslaughter, he was carted away to the jail, alone and depressed. His only hope was that he would have been able to look into his wife's eyes, to know that everything was going to be okay.

But she wouldn't even look at him throughout the whole trial.

"Daddy! Mommy says dinner is-"

Thud.

The other prisoners congratulated him on his crime. They clapped him on the back, told him that he "Really showed his wife who was boss."

"No." He jumped off of the ATV, sprinting around to see the small lump that lay in front of it.

It made him sick to think that humanity had come to the point that they were congratulated when they killed another of their own. It made him sick that people loved the cold, distant look of a corpse. It made him sick that after commiting a crime, going to jail, and put on probation that they still came back, thirsty for more blood.

Her face was covered in red.

And yet with all of those people in the world, his own wife treated him like one of them after an accident. Not to mention the fact that he already felt bad enough about it.

"Rachael! Call the hospital, now!" the man yelled, but he knew it was too late. The large machine probably killed her the moment it hit her. But he couldn't accept it. He couldn't lose his daughter, not like this.

For weeks, the man wandered about in his cell, murmuring and mumbling words no one could understand. Some say he was talking to his dead daughter. Others say he went insane.

She was gone.

As the days dragged on, the man decided that he would do anything to go back and somehow makeup for what he had done. He already lost her twin sister while his wife was in labor. She was all he had, aside from his wife.

Now, he had nothing but a security guard that only ever said two words to him: "Food's here."

***

Five years went by, and the man was released from the prison. He had gone in a man, accused for something that he didn't try to do. He couldn't have prevented it. But when he came out, he was beaten. Broken beyond repair.

There were multiple new scars that ran along his body, and his eyes were dark, filled with the terrors and insanity he had suffered. The worst part of all?

His wife didn't come to pick him up.

As he stood outside of his home, wearing a gray t-shirt and jeans, his hair astray and his hands clenched together, he knew that nothing would be the same.

Their daughter had been their pride and joy. Their light in the darkness. The one thing that urged them to keep going, to not give up. Her fighting spirit flowed through not just her, but her parents as well.

When she died, part of them died with her.

For a second, the man worried that his wife wouldn't let him in. That she wouldn't look at him the same way anymore. Slowly, he dragged one foot after the other, step after step, until he had reached the top of their porch.

The faded green rocking chair that had given so many splinters to his family still sat there, rocking slightly in the wind. The boards beneath his feet still creaked as he leaned on them, and the Mason jar that his daughter had used countless times to catch fireflies still sat on the small wooden table, empty and rusty.

"Daddy! Look how far back I can go!"

The man laughed, and shook his head. "Don't go too far back, Abby. You don't want to tip the chair over."

Somehow, the words did not register in the eight year-old's mind, and she propelled herself forward so much that she would have fallen out of the old rocking chair if she had not been holding on to the armrests with her small hands. Her face was eager and determined as she rocked forward, then became filled with delight and glee as the chair threw her back.

"Honey, I said-"

Too late. The chair couldn't take the stress anymore, and it rocked just a little bit too far forward this time, causing Abby to scream in fear and clench the chair tighter instead of jumping out of the way. Without thinking, the man thrust himself toward the ground, providing a softer spot for the little girl to land on.

The chair hit him hard, but it was worth it to see his little girl wearing a crooked smile, eyes open in a mix of awe, fear, and delight.

"How did you do that? You're like Superman!"

"I guess I've got really good reflexes. Besides, I know what goes on in that little sneaky mind of yours." The man began to tickle Abby, causing her to shriek with glee and burst out in laughter.

Looking into her eyes, he would do anything for this child.

The man raised a shaky hand, clenching it into a fist as he gathered the courage to go into his own house. Cautiously, he rapped on the door.

Minutes passed, and the man began to realize that he was not welcome. But instead of leaving, he sighed and sat down on the green rocking chair. He stretched back, and the old wooden chair let out a low creak. For a second, he thought that his little girl was there, still sitting on his lap, head rested on his chest and soft, even breaths escaping her small mouth.

He was so lost in the past that he didn't notice the tears that fell from his eyes and glided silently down his cheeks. He just sat, letting the soft September wind blow through his hair and the sun shine on his tired body. And that's when he began to imagine.

He imagined that everything was back to normal.

He imagined that the two very things that meant the most to him were right by his side.

He imagined that all three of them could laugh together, watch movies together, make Christmas cookies together.

He imagined that the brakes had functioned like they were supposed to.

He imagined his perfect life, but that was now gone, blown away like dust in the wind.

He took both of his large hands and covered his face, sighing heavily. All he wanted was to be with his wife, to hold her. Lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice the soft sound of the front door opening and closing, he didn't notice the creak of the boards on the porch, and he didn't see the shadow of a feminine figure standing beside him until he felt her fingers grasp his shoulder. Looking up, the man saw his wife, his beautiful wife, and gasped.

"Rachael. I-I'm-"

"Shh." As he and his wife embraced for the first time in three years, the man felt safe. He felt loved.

And there they stood for a few silent minutes, arms wrapped around each other and the leaves gliding gracefully through the air as they were swept off of their branches.

***

Later that night, the couple sat by the fireplace, staring at the flames as they sat in their velvet armchairs.

"I'll do anything to make up for this. I promise. Honestly, if there's any way I could take back what happened, I would."

The man's wife now shook her head, smiling.

"I told you. It's going to be alright. It wasn't your fault. There's nothing you can do but put it in the past."

The man sighed heavily. "I know. But it's just so...hard."

"Yes, it will be. But I'll be here, right by your side, for as long as I live. I'm never leaving you. Till death do us part, right?"

The man closed his eyes, listening to the soft cackle of the fire and the delighted laughter of his deceased child that still rang in his ears.