[ WP ] You are a former parent whose child was murdered . Most people around you expected you to do something dramatic , like become a super hero or go on a killing spree , but you do n't seem to be doing any of that at all . What ARE you doing ?

The visitors area tried to be cheerier than it was. The walls were a pale lavender rather than the typical bleached white. The chairs were a similarly unexpected shade of orange, and the tables were a minimalist navy blue. 
 
 She walked in, her cuffs shining in the harsh fluorescent lights. Her hair was greasy, and her eyes were the uncaring blue of slowly melting sea ice. It looked halfway between a smile and bared teeth, the face she made towards me, but her eyes danced in their sockets like frightened insects. Her handler gave her a not unkind shove towards me. 
 
 She looked at me, her eyes quieting and slowing. Now the doubt crept onto her face. I patted the seat next to me, and she gave the faintest of smiles. 
 
 She alit on the seat gently, and said slowly, as though she had not spoken in months ( thought later I would learn that was actually the case. ) `` I am so sorry.'' 
 
 I was silent, and she continued. `` About Caleb... I-'' 
 
 `` Do n't say his name.'' It slipped out of my mouth before I could stop myself, a jagged steel blade directed towards her heart. Had n't she already been through enough? I closed my eyes, and thought of my salvation. When I closed my eyes, I felt closer- the last time I closed my eyes, he would finally be in front of me again. When I died, my boy would be by my side, and I could live again. 
 
 I cleared my throat. No one would understand the weight of my loss, nor the feathery lightness of the unexpected gain. 
 
 `` Let's see what we can do to get you out of here...''
