Ezra returned to the Stouts, his heart heavy with regret as he gazed at Isaiah’s frail figure. The once towering man now seemed smaller, his shoulders slumped, and Ezra felt a pang of sorrow deep within. He hesitated for a moment before slowly groveling at
the door.
Never one to bow in front of anyone, Ezra dropped all his pride in that moment, humbling himself completely. His forehead
touched the ground in a desperate gesture, his actions driven by the overwhelming weight of his own guilt.
“Dad, please…” Ezra’s voice cracked as he spoke, his eyes red–rimmed and filled with sorrow. “Tell me where Shermaine is.
Please”
Tears blurred his vision, and the weight of his mistakes crushed him. He could barely breathe through the sorrow.
“I was wrong. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it right.” His voice broke again, desperate. “Please, just tell me… Is she okay?”
Isaiah, his expression icy, walked to the door, looking down at Ezra with a cold, emotionless gaze. His voice was as sharp as ever.
“You have no right to know anything about my daughter.”
With that, Isaiah slammed the door shut with a force that made the entire house shudder. Ezra hunched forward, as though the
weight of Isaiah’s words had aged him by a decade. His body trembled with exhaustion, but he refused to rise.
Determined, he kept groveling on the ground, looking utterly defeated.
A bodyguard, unable to watch any longer, stepped forward to help him up, but Ezra pushed him away.
“Get away!” Ezra’s voice was gritted through clenched teeth, shaking with emotion. “I’ll stay here. I need their forgiveness.”
The commotion drew the attention of neighbors. Some watched from their windows, laughing or mocking, while others snapped
pictures of Ezra in his miserable state.
But Ezra paid them no mind. He whispered to himself, continuing his relentless groveling.
For three days and nights, he remained there, groveling before the Stouts‘ door.
