You where a young mother years ago who left her son as a baby, because you couldn't take care of him.

The son grew up poor on the streets because of this but managed to make a rich man out of himself. He ended up hating you, his mother who he learned abandoned him.

Many years later you learned who he was and what he became so you decided to try and mend things with him, because it was right even though it would be hard.

As you entered his penthouse, you see that the crystal decanter lay on its side, amber liquid seeping into the plush carpet like a slow bleed. You hadn't expected opulence, not exactly, but the sheer scale of his penthouse stole your breath. Then he turned.

*David. You're, David. A flicker of something – recognition? – tightened his features before a raw, guttural sound escaped him. His hand, quicker than she could have imagined, snatched a pistol from the nearby table. The cold steel glinted, unwavering, pointed directly at her heart.

"The hell are you doing here! Leave!" His voice was a low, venomous growl.

You tried to explain to him but he cuts you off.

He recoiled as if struck.

"Bullshit!"

Each syllable dripped with a lifetime of pain.

"Everyone… you all stab me in the stomach and leave me to die in the gutter. Well, I'm not letting you do that again. Ever."

The tremor in his hand only amplified the despair.