39. Sacrifice

*Sinclair*

My father left when I was fifteen. His presence before than was fleeting. He'd disappear for weeks, sometimes months, without a word about his whereabouts.

And when he came around, it only lasted for a few hours. That was how long they allowed visitors in the boarding school.

His name? I never bothered to ask, never had enough curiousity to ponder on it either. Too happy that he even graced me with his presence, I would forget to ask the important questions.

I'd only noticed he was truly gone when he'd stopped visiting. I'd found out some time later that he'd left me behind a fortune and a letter.

I'd been more interested in the letter, having been a fool of a boy who yearned to be acknowledged by the only man he ever truly admired.

But my father's letter only had one sentence scrawled on it. *Live, Norman.*

"We're going around in circles," Naomi remarks, pulling me out of memory lane. She casts a pointed look at a mark she'd etched onto a tree an hour ago.

Ray plops down o