“Yes it is, babe.”
“Well, that’s not what the recipe said.”
“Show me,” I dare. She stares at me like she can’t believe I’m arguing.
She pushes her chair out, her ponytail waving back at me while she fetches her phone from the counter. I sit back, folding my hands. Waiting. Because I know I’m right.
Not even five seconds later, I hear her groan. A low, defeated, irritated little sound that tells me I’ve won without even looking.
She turns, glaring daggers at me.
I grin. “I love you, sweetheart.”
She crosses her arms. “Love you too,” she mutters.
A diesel pulls into the driveway as we clean up dinner, headlights sweeping across the floor for a second before disappearing.
“Who’s that?” Megan asks.
“Cody.”
I know something’s wrong before he even knocks.
I open the door and one look at him confirms it—jaw tight, shoulders tense, like something’s been eating at him all day and he finally ran out of room to carry it.
“Hey,” he says. “Can I come in?”
“Yeah,” I answer, already stepping aside.
Megan comes into view behind me. Cody’s eyes flick to her, then back to me. He doesn’t say a word, just exhales through his nose.
“Meg,” I say gently, “can you give us a minute?”
She doesn’t argue. Just nods once. “Sure.” Then she heads upstairs, quiet.
Cody scrubs a hand over his beard. “I need you to store my guns for a while.”
My stomach drops, chest tightening, but I don’t hesitate. I just nod. “Alright.”
“It’s Karissa,” he says, voice low and unsteady. “I don’t think she would. She says she wouldn’t. But the things she says sometimes…it scares me.”
“Where is she right now?” I ask.
“On a walk with the kids.” He swallows. “She doesn’t know I’m doing this.”
“Okay,” I say. “Yeah. Of course.”
He takes a shaky breath, staring past me like he’s trying to hold himself together. “I don’t know how to help her.”
“You are helping,” I tell him. “This? This matters.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not enough.”
“Cody,” I say firmly. “You can’t heal her.”
He doesn’t respond.
“She’s in therapy, right?” I ask.
