"I love you." He told her, holding her head in his hands.

"Liar," she said, "you don't love me. No one loves me. Who would love a murderer's daughter?"

"Me," he replied simply, "I love a murderer's daughter. Because she's smart, honest, kind. Because she is nothing like her mother. And even though she doesn't believe it, she deserves to be touched by another emotion other than pain."

"Because I don't deserve it," she whispered then. As she lifted her eyes to his, he peered into them, and saw the degrading misery inside of her.

"Yes, you do," he squeezed her hand reassuringly, but she didn't respond, "you do." He repeated.

"Thank you," she answered after a few minutes. He smiled sadly in response and pulled her into a gentle hug.

She tensed at first, unsure of this new encounter, but soon relaxed, soaking in his warmth.