Or the more fucking she'd get before coming home, he now realized. At this very moment his little girl might be getting fucked by some hormonal 18-year-old--George froze. He heard something outside. He listened closely and a moment later he heard the front door slowly swing open.George jumped out of his chair. "Amy, that you?" he called, trying not to slur his voice.She didn't respond, but he heard her footsteps approaching. In the glow of the TV, which was the only illumination in the room, he saw her. She looked chilled to the bone: she was wearing her thick leather coat, her earmuffs, and the coat was zipped up, even. But she looked positively frigid."It's me," the girl chattered."Join your old man for a beer," George said, walking around the couch and into the kitchen."I—I'm fine," the shivering teen replied. "I—just need to sleep."George quickly grabbed one of the special beers, one of the ones he'd prepared for his daughter. When he got back to the living room he caught her. Dan finished out the term at BSU and then announced his retirement. Coming back to the small town, they sold the trailer and bought a modest but comfortable house in a pleasant neighborhood and settled into domestic life.Later that year Monique was born and they became doting grandparents. Three years following, Chris and Angie graduated and moved to the southwest where Chris became a physical therapist and Angie an elementary school teacher.For the next six years both couples were ecstatically happy. Then tragedy struck.Monique was diagnosed with an especially virulent strain of leukemia and over the next two years the health of the nine year old steadily declined despite bone marrow transplants and every other treatment medical science could offer. The strain was telling on both Chris and Angie and when Monique finally succumbed the marriage began unraveling. Within a year Angie and Chris were divorced.As for Marsha and Dan, their life during this time was sedate but happy until.
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