Tell The Wolves Im Coming Home

Im Sorry, Dad.

I stand in the kitchen, talking to my father, just like we do every afternoon.
His sleeve shifts, revealing the tattoo underneath.
One word, three letters, but they tell an entire story.

It's a old name, one I wish to forget, one I wish nobody had ever associated with my being.

Dad catches me staring.

He lifts up his sleeve to remind me once again of what I once was and still am to him.

A happy little girl.

"Zoe"

One word, three letters.
Yet it tells an entire story.