It turned out that the neighbor downstairs heard something amiss and called the cops.
Malcolm''s suitcase hit the floor as a set of cold, metallic handcuffs snapped around his wrists.
When Gina heard that Malcolm had been locked up for murder, she wasn''t exactly surprised.
Deep down, she had always known that Malcolm''s path was leading nowhere good.
Lizzie went to see Malcolm, just once. After all, he was her father, and his days were numbered.
It was the right thing to do, to see him onest time.
Separated by a pane of ss, Lizzie saw Malcolm, haggard and aged beyond his years. Just a few days had passed, yet he seemed a different man.
"Dad."
"Lizzie." Malcolm managed a feeble smile, “Thanks foring to see your old man.”
He''d thought there had been a mix-up when the guard said he had a visitor.
But there she was, Lizzie, actually there.
"How are you holding up in here?” Lizzie asked
Malcolm was bunked with death row inmates, the kind of people capable of anything.
The ordinary mind couldn''t fathom the kind of hell that was.
If he could de it all over, Malcolm would never have betrayed Gina. He would''ve cherished his wife and daughter.This content provided by N(o)velDrama].[Org.
But it was toote for regrets.
He nodded, trying to sound upbeat, "I''m okay, pumpkin. You don''t worry. Just take care of your mom, focus on your studies, get into a good college.”
“Your mom''s a saint. I messed up, big time. I wasn''t a good husband, much less a good father.”
"Lizzie, when it''s your time to settle down, keep those eyes wide open. Don''t end up with someone like me. Listen to your mom: she’s got the years
and the wisdom on you..."
"Lizzie, take good care of her, will ya?”
Unaware, Lizzie felt tears streaming down her face.
Once upon a time, she too had a happy family, a father who loved her..
The ten minutes of visitation flew by.
Stepping out of the prison gates, Lizzie looked up at the sun and fought back the tears.
The dark clouds had passed; now it was time to prep for the SATs, aiming to get into the same college as her best friend, Anthea.
These days, Carole was buried in books, not even setting aside her dictionary during meals
When Nanson returned from his business trip, he was bbergasted!
Could this person, chatting away fluently in French with Anthea, really be Carole?
Having dabbled in French himself, Nanson could tell—Carole''s pronunciation was spot-on!
"Sis, what''s your secret? How''d you get so good in just a few days?!"
Carole looked up with a smile, "Who
do you think you''re talking to? Nat”
everyone’ $ as hit-and-miss with: their
efforts: ‘as you are. How could you
expect to improve with youro
approach?"
-
At first, Nanson had been diligent, but that had quickly faded.
He only had patience for things that piqued his interest, and French wasn''t one of them.
Caught out by Carole''s remark, Nanson scratched his head sheepishly, "Hey, I''ve been trying too, alright?"
Anthea chimed in tly, "Uncle, thes.
teacher responsible for your lessons
messaged me yesterday. You
haven''t shown up to his onlive
sses I in three days." ~
Nanson was awkward and speechless.
Anthea continued, "You can''t go on like this, Uncle. Learning French won''t hurt you. Mom''s going to outpace you by miles if you keep this up.”
Nanson nodded, his face a mask of resolve, "Starting today, I''ll buckle down on my French studies!"
Anthea handed Nanson a notebook, "Here, take this."
"What''s this?" Nanson looked puzzled
‘It''s a collection of French learning
strategies] vepiled. Better a
poor h@fse than no horse at all.”
Memorize these when you''ve got a
mortent. Mom will be quizziag you
in-a-week."
-
Carole nodded in agreement.
Nanson sometimes needed supervision like a child. Otherwise, he''d never master French.
And the person Nanson feared most was Carole.
Grasping the notebook. Nanson grinned, "Just memorization? Piece of cake!"