“Ritchie, I’m home!...where are you?” There was a piece of looseleaf taped to the door of the bathroom, robert tore it off and read it quickly. He would read it over and over many times afterwards but at that moment he barely read two sentences. He rushed into the bathroom and never again would he look at linoleum the same way. Never again would he run bathwater without thinking back to that day. For there was Ritchie, unconscious in the overflowing bathtub. The crimson water spilled out onto the floor. Robert rushed to the phone. Maybe it wasn’t too late to save his most prized possesion…his son.