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I walk up to the hostess and, nervously, ask if she is here. “My name is Adi, and I’m here for an appointment with the owner’s daughter.”

“Wonderful,” the hostess says as she starts typing away on her computer. “Follow me. The lady of the house is already here.” She gestures towards the dining area, and I follow her into it. The restaurant is beautiful. There are grey walls adorned with paintings, golden chandeliers, and sleek black tables. If you want an intimate dining experience, this is where you go.

There is nobody inside the restaurant, and I’m guessing it’s because the lady wanted absolute privacy for this conversation.

Smart.

We come to a table in the farther end of the restaurant, and there she is. She is so much different from the last time I saw her. Her brown hair is longer; she looks more poised and strong, and her eyes are boring into mine. The hostess leaves us alone, and once I sit down, my heart really starts pounding like crazy. Which is weird, because why would a nineteen-year-old make me so nervous?

“Emma, thank you so much for meeting me,” I stammer through my words. She puts her elbows on her table and puts her chin in her hands. I can’t read her expression, even though she is smiling.

“No problem, M.” She sounds like a kind person. Not something I deserve.

“Please, call me Noa.” Fuck, this isn’t going well, and we haven’t even started.

Her tone is soft and kind. “Noa, are you nervous?” she asks me sincerely. I fidget with my empty glass while my other arm is flat on the table. I look at her and answer as honestly as I can.

“I am. Okay, here we go.” I take a deep breath. “I want to apologize for what I did to you all those years ago.”

“What do you mean?” She scrunches her eyebrows. Doesn’t she remember what I did? Before I can ask her, she jumps in and puts her hands flat on the table.

“Let me clarify: I remember everything. But what I don’t understand is why you are apologizing?” The question makes me sit up straight and lock in for the conversation.

“You should be mad at me. I killed him.” My words are steadier now, and at the same time still full of worry. I worry how she is going to react.

She reaches across the table and pats my hand before she retrieves it. “I am not mad at you.”

“How can you not be mad? You should be outraged! You should take that glass and smash it across my head!” I’m raising my voice, knowingly, because I need to get my point across. Emma doesn’t say anything throughout my barrage of questions and judgments.

And if I’m being honest…I am judging her.

I am judging a literal teenager.

How fucking pathetic am I?

Emma doesn’t move or say a fucking word. She is still calm and collected.

“Noa, please, calm down. I’ll explain everything,” I follow her order and try to calm down. She puts her left hand over her mouth and giggles. She actually giggles, but it’s honest.

“Noa, can I talk now? And I don’t want you interrupting me, are we clear on that?” Emma asks me, and I nod. Even though she is young, she has that slight edge to her.

“I am not mad at you. Because you saved me almost seven years ago.” I want to say something, but I stop myself and let her talk. “You can say something now, because I feel like you need to,” she chuckles. I relax at her demeanor.

“Emma, you obviously made a life for yourself, but I took your father away from you,” I state to her. I remember that dreadful night like it happened yesterday. Emma is…

“Yes, you killed my father right before my eyes, but I am not broken, Noa. You saved me from a monster.”

…the little girl of the man I killed right in front of her. Her face has haunted my dreams, thinking I broke her. My morals are not up for debate; they are gone. But I do care about whether I hurt someone truly innocent. What I will always question is why my father ordered me to take out Emma’s father. Okay, he was a general piece of shit and an awful man, but why then? Why around the time when Lana’s father was killed?

“The wheels are turning in your head, and I’m not sure it’s in the right direction,” Emma observes. I look at her, and I force a smile.

“I don’t know,” I start. “You have so much grace surrounding all of it, and I’m trying to comprehend why.”

“Fine, I’ll explain.” She inhales deeply and exhales like she needs to ground herself for what’s to come. “My father was a drug dealer. While that in itself is awful, he sold to fucking minors, as you know.”

“Yeah, and one kid died from an overdose because he sold to him,” I add to her explanation .

“Yes. He was also the worst father. The night you killed him, he hit me. And it wasn’t the first time.”