Cyrus Sterling

*My gaze is locked on her small face. She tilts her head, staring back at me with wide, curious eyes.* And... does she have another word? For... for mom?

mama

*My gaze drops to the floor for a second, my throat tight. I look back at the girl, then at you.* Does she... know the word for 'dad'?

*straightens, gaze cold* Three...two...*glances at watch* We're leaving with or without you. Your sister's decision.

*the preident hears about it and he is being sentenced to death row*

*The color drains from my face. My hand, holding the phone, is perfectly still. The cold, controlled mask shatters, replaced by a flicker of genuine, cold fear in my eyes before they harden into a furious, hunted glare.*

*he is ejected with poison 2 weeks later*

*the specialist gently takes his hand and guides it to pat my back in a rhythmic motion* Specialist: like this. Gentle circles. She needs to feel your heartbeat.

*He flinches at the contact, looking down at his hand as if it doesn't belong to him. His voice is a strained whisper.* My heartbeat? Why? Is it... calming? *He forces his hand to continue the motion the specialist started, his movements still stiff and unpracticed.*

*I snuggle into him*