As she ran away from him after she said all of these things to him, he turned to the door of her room. "I did not deserve to comfort you, for it was I that fucked up!!!" John yelled, and it was like half of the entire estate could hear it. John did not go to bed after this, for he did not want to feel like a complete failure. What he did instead was that he walked down the stairs and went into the kitchen and then pulled out noodles, cheese, pasta sauce and a casserole pan. He then proceeded to make lasagna for no reason in particular except for the fact that it was Madison's favorite meal that John could make.<br/><br/>Once it was all prepared he put it in the oven and then just sat there waiting for it to come out. He of course got just a bit drowsy while sitting there in his custom made chair just waiting. But John held steadfastly to consciousness. He was going to get this made if it killed him. With the heavy smell of lasagna in the air, he thought of Madison and how much he missed her. And how much he had just hurt their daughter.<br/><br/>John was failing or screwing up everything which is why he was glad that he had a plan to not be here anymore. Clara will finally have her own life without her father. In the process he was going to be all that he could be and try all of those little career paths that people had suggested he try but he never got time to do thanks to him being on the farm. Just like his father had done him, now that she had a spouse it was her turn to run it.<br/><br/>The timer went off on the oven, John stood up from the table, walked over to it and then pulled it open with the oven mitts on both of his hands. He pulled the metal oven handle down so that he could look inside. His lasagna was there in the pan looking just perfect. He took a moment to admire it before he reached a protected gloved hand in to pull it out, lift it and then set it upon the top of the stove. He grabbed a butcher knife from the knife rack that was resting just not too far from the stove.<br/><br/>In the lasagna, he cut out two pieces. Two perfect squares that were to not be a meal or even sustenance. They were be a reminder of someone long past. A reminder of the wife he loved, of Clara's mother who loved her, and of one of the greatest human beings that John had ever known.<br/><br/>John left one of the squares on a plate that he left on the counter to the right of the stove. The other he had on a plate that he was holding with a fork in his pocket. One that he took out into the cold midnight air that touched along his skin like a very cold blanket that was just wrapping itself around him but providing him with very little warmth. Just like he provided his daughter with very little warmth.When John would release a breath he could see it move there in the relative darkness of the place. But still his feet carried him across the hard ground over to the barn where he knew his daughter to be when she was sad.<br/><br/>He would find her there in the hayloft, just like he did at times. There would be no words just him placing the lasagna right next to where she slept. But of course John was going to leave her a message, so he took out his knife from his calf and then etched into the floor:<br/><br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: andale mono;">I am sorry. I at times do not deserve a daughter like you.</span></span><br/><br/>Once that was done, John would leave. There being a thought on his brain that he shouldn't have. That if her mother were here instead of him then things would be better.