The Final Wave
Copyright Damien Nathaniel Wren 2011
Jensen – a tall, hefty man of 30 years – looked down at the 10 year old. His expression softened. Gently, he reached down with a hand that seemed monstrous next to the little girl’s head – carefully lifting her chin with a curled, thick, index finger. His smile conveyed the love he felt for his daughter. He choked back a tear as memories of her mother came flooding in. She was a spitting image.
“Please?” she repeated.
“OK, baby. I’ll be back to pick you up at 5:30, then it’s dinner, practice, and straight to bed.”