I was sitting on the foster care living room sofa. The police had just gone. After 1 hours of questioning, I was exhausted. Who wouldn't be? I was cold and wet (It was raining outside).Not a good combination. The Apartment was restricted, due to a investigation. But what would they find? I don't know. All I know is, they need to find Josh, to kill him. If Josh was his real name. Why did he do this? Why had my mum been attracted to this beast? Why did he try to murder me? Why did he kill mum?

I don't know why I was asking myself useless questions.

Someone knocked on the door. Ever since I cam here, everyone has been cautious with me. It infuriated me. They treat me as if I'm a time-ticking bomb, that will explode any minute. It just shows that they don't know anything about me. I've been crying a lot, but it was over. I never cried so much until now. I sighed and ran a hand through my hair and draped a blanket over my shoulders and tried to look presentable.

I don't want to look like a mess, do I?

"Come in," I said, stonily.

The person outside came in. He wore a grey suit and matching pants. He had neat blond hair and pink lips. It was obvious, this person meant business .No. It wasn't the manager of "Bank of America." No. It wasn't a police officer. No it wasn't the chief of CIA. It was much worse.

It was my dad!

My dad smiled at me briefly and sat down on one of the armchairs opposite of me and said, "Oh, I thought you was asleep."

We haven't seen each other in eight years old and this is what he says, first? I think I'm getting a headache. My dad is one of the founders and Executive directors of the "2oth Century Fox Film Corporation." It makes me feel sick, to know that all the money he has can save the worlds pollution. The last time I saw him was when I was four. I'm twelve, now.

"What are you doing here?," I try not to snarl at him.

My dad runs a hand through his hair and says, "I heard you mother was…killed."

Tears fill up my eyes and I try to keep it together. My dad was always straightforward and blunt. And now he was trying to be sensitive and sympathetic, but was failing miserably. I better say something, shouldn't I?I clear my throat, as quietly as I could.

"Yes. What's it to you?," My voice is hoarse.

He avoids my eyes and says, "I came to give you my condolences."

He's being businesslike. Why doesn't he just say he was glad that my mothers dead? Does he think I need this right now? My shoulders slump and I sigh. I rub my head against the sofa's armrest. I feel so cold. Maybe it was because of what I witnessed, not a few hours ago? I wait for something. Anything. It's obvious I have to say something, next.

I grit my teeth, "And…?"

"I-I though about our broken relationship and I thought…I thought maybe you would like to come back to Los Angeles with me? As a family again?," He says finally.

I blink. Then blink. And then blink again. From all things I was not expecting that. Maybe I was dreaming it. Maybe I was just hoping. Maybe I was wishing. But I had heard right. He had actually asked me to go back to Los Angles with him. I think I was too surprised. I think my dad was surprised to even bring himself to even ask me. I couldn't just say no, could I?

I try to smile. But my smile is weak, "Of course…Dad."

But would it all work out fine?