Harold stood over his father’s casket. The heavy mahogany coffin’s top was propped open. Tears flowed freely from Harold’s eyes and continued down his cheeks to his collar. Allowing himself to lose control, he bent over and wrapped his arms around his father’s lifeless body. Richard’s cold, dead cheek pressed against his own.
Harold blubbered and stammered, “I’m sorry, Dad.”
“That’s okay, Son.”
Harold released his grip and stumbled backwards.
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