A/N: I thought I'd leave Reflection as a one shot, but I read the reviews and someone told me to do more, so I thought I'd try this! I don't think it's as good, but it's something!
My father was a man who was set in his ways.
He followed his routine religiously, and when it was broken, it was frightening.
What little he said was always meaningful. He told me to help others whenever I could.
I can't remember a time he helped anyone, besides how he helped me my whole life.
Without me realizing it, he taught me right from wrong, wrong from right.
That day on the pier, when Savannah dropped her bag, I was only trying to help.
Those few days, months, years we were together, I guess that one act of kindness did help her, help me.
But if I had known the pain that our relationship would cause me, I would have never dove into the ocean to find her little purse, swaying on the bottom of the ocean floor.
I helped the country by fighting, but only ended up with a bad shoulder and multiple other wounds.
I'm not saying that I regret helping, but sometimes I stop and wonder, is it worth the risk?
Was my father right?