It’s going to take an iron will not to cry when that night comes.
Until then, I’ll soak up every motherly moment he’ll allow me.
I’ve just finished patting my face dry when I hear him calling from the other room, telling me he’s dressed for bed.
Quickly applying a thin layer of moisturizer, I flick off the bathroom light and pad down the hall to his door.
Jackson’s room is simple in its decoration but entirely him, with a solar system bedspread and glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling to match.
The deep blue of his accent wall behind his dresser adds to the space theme, and I smile when I find him wearing a pair of NASA pajamas I bought him last Christmas.
“Did you pick out your outfit for tomorrow?” I double-check—because we both know by now that it’s going to be a scramble out the door, as usual. Best to be as prepared as we can be the night before.
“Yep,” he agrees, wiggling further beneath the covers as I lift them to make it easier. Then I pull them snuggly up to his chest.
“I love you, bud,” I say, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead.
“Love you too, Mom.”
“Sweet dreams,” I add, chucking him under the chin as I straighten.
“Good night.” He grins, knowing what comes next in the bedtime ritual, and he echoes me as I head toward the door, saying, “Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
Blowing him a last kiss, I flick off his bedroom lamp, igniting the stars above him that serve as his nightlight.
It isn’t hard to know how blessed I am, and I take a moment to appreciate my life as I cross the hall to my bedroom.
My son is my entire world.
I love him with every bone in my body and know without a shadow of a doubt that I would give anything to keep him safe.
With that in mind, I gently pull my bedroom door closed before heading to my closet—and the tiny safe bolted to the shelf in the far back corner there.
Spinning the dial, I quickly put in the combination and turn the lever to open the door, then reach inside to palm the pistol there.
It’s not loaded—I know better than to keep a bullet in the chamber.
But the box of ammo sits right beside it, and I go through the motion of checking the cartridge and pulling back the hammer before raising the sights to eye level.
I’ve had the gun for years and never used it, but it doesn’t hurt to know how—just in case.
I’ve been to enough gun ranges to be certain I do.
I bought the gun to protect myself almost straight out of being released from the hospital eight years ago.
Because I refuse to be anyone’s victim again.
I have Jackson to think of now, and that means I simply can’t afford to let something happen.
6
GIO
Is it wrong that I now know which train Stephanie takes home from work every day?
Maybe, but that hasn’t stopped me from waiting for her at the station so I can watch her ride it back to her townhouse.
I haven’t been able to slip away early enough in the morning to follow her to work just yet—which is probably a good thing, because my workdays have already gotten significantly shorter since I developed a penchant for walking in the early evening—a habit that has my brothers more than a little bit irritated because of my unexplained absences when I’m supposed to be leading our cause against the Tanakas.
