It was strange when I got the call inviting me over for dinner. I knew in my gut that it was just a trick, to meet me, and finally have the chance to say it to my face how horrible of a person I am. I imagined how they would tell me that he was their only son, that he was a nice person, and everyone loved him, that they find it hard to wake up every morning knowing that their son doesn't exist in this world any more, that I am the one who did it to them, that I am nothing less than a monster. It is all true, so I won't be able to blame them. I would have to sit there, and listen to it all - listen to what those old parents have to say to the murderer of their child. And I deserve it.

None of it happened. I knocked the door, and when I heard the click of the knob from inside, I broke down into tears, on my knees, and I remember the next moment turned out to be the best comforting feeling of my life. They both came down on their knees, the father held me in his embrace, the mother rubbed my arm, and they both kept saying, repeatedly "It's okay, son, it's okay. It's not your fault."