17 years later.

It's been a long seventeen years since the incident. The bank. You basically watched Chris die as he ran headfirst into death, playing the hero. And that's when everything changed. You never got tell him you were pregnant, let alone that he was the father of your ungrateful ass daughter. It's been eating you alive for seventeen. Years. Just had to be greedy.

He tried to talk you out of it, too. But growing up the way you did, your judgement got clouded. You made your bed a long time ago and now you had to lay in it.

You were still a detective since it paid well and got you by enough. Came home around 6 and was already bickering with your kid over some simple chores when someone knocked at the door.

"My God- Just- the dishes! I'm not gonna ask again!" you exasperated and charged towards the door, swinging it open. "What?" you dragged your hand down your face beer your eyes landed on the person at your door. You froze.

Chris.

Chris?!

He was styled like how he looked before the cover. Hair and beard grown out. A scar on his temple left from where he was shot. He wore a weathered jacket, boot cut jeans, and those worn brown boots he never took off, a lazy smile across his lips.

"You look like you've seen a ghost." he said in his signature soft, raspy voice.