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“There’s a private stairwell in the backyard that leads to one of the bedrooms,” Emil says behind me. “I also found exactly where I’d want to put the safe room.”

“Oh?” I ask, glancing down to find my son more interested in his grandfather’s voice than eating anymore. I tuck my breast away into my bra and straighten my shirt before turning toward Emil. “If you can take Zayn for me, I’d love to see.”

“Of course I will,” he coos, bending down to pick up him.

I stand slowly and incline my head to show I’m ready when the world remains upright.

“We’ll go slow,” he says. “The stairs are by the front door and it’s a straight shot up. Plenty of space on the stairs to sit too.”

“How many bedrooms does it have?” I ask, following him as he begins walking.

“Four. It’s twenty-five hundred square feet, and has two bathrooms. Once we get upstairs, you’ll see three bedrooms upstairs and an open area near the windows that’ll be perfect as an art space for you. There’s enough room to put baby gates up to keep Zayn out of there,” he says. “Downstairs is the living room, kitchen, bathroom, and a bedroom. You can see the city lights from your porch while still having a small town feeling steps from the house.”

“It’s big,” I muse, managing the stairs alright. The space is airy and beautiful, making me quickly fall in love. There’s room for visitors, though Emil mentioned that he was planning to buy himself a home as well.

“There’s space to grow,” he agrees. “You have your entire life to live, why get something small? Julia and I still plan to buy property here in San Diego for the summers, and it’ll be large enough that everyone can stay with us when they visit. You’re young, go big.”

“I have to clean all of this,” I laugh, my eyes going soft as I see all of the closet space in the largest bedroom. It also has a staircase to give a private entrance. Too bad my hoe days never got off the ground.

“I’ll throw in a cleaning lady to sweeten the deal along with a landscaper,” Emil says, giving me a winning smile. Ugh, he drives a hard bargain, and I’m already in love with this place.

“We can do a little remodeling to update things before you move. We can also childproof things to keep your stress down.”

“I love it,” I confess. “It’s rustic while still being functional.”

“I want you to see the kitchen and then let me know if you want me to renovate the cabinets.”

“You’re going to be sad when I tell you I love them too. I’m really not picky,” I remind him.

“I’m not asking for ‘picky’, but rather what you really think. I can tell this is your house,” he says. “I want to give you a fully functional space, mija. Okay, here’s where I’m thinking the safe room should be. In your bedroom, you saw the huge closet.”

Emil leads me back into the room, and shows me where it goes back.

“Behind that, is an office space I doubt you’ll use, right?”

“Correct. I’m much happier working in a shared space if I have some type of paperwork to do,” I admit.

“We can add a door here,” he says, knocking on the back wall, “and seal the other entrance to create an impenetrable room. It’ll give you access to food and water for twenty-four to forty-eight hours if necessary, but the plan is to get you help immediately.”

“Do you think this will be necessary?” I ask, my brows pulling together.

“No. However, I don’t fuck around with my family’s safety. I’ve learned I can’t always keep you all safe, and I have to take steps to help you protect yourself. I could teach you how to shoot a gun, but I don’t know if you’ll be comfortable enough to use it. Instead, I’ll teach you to hide and allow help to get to you,” he says. “You also have a small child with you and this is the best way that I can think of to get you out of harm’s way should it come looking for you.”

“That’s fair,” I mumble, my eyes on my baby. I’ve been in a situation like this before as a child, and I’ll do anything to protect Zayn from it happening to him. “Okay, I can accept that.”

“Good,” he breathes. “Now let’s go see this kitchen.”

My lips twitch in amusement as I walk downstairs, and my eyes move to the door as I see it opening.

“Oye, who is that?” Emil yells, moving around me and handing my son to me.

“It’s Monica,” the realtor says, looking around the door into the house. I note the way Emil checks the website to make sure she is who she says she is and I relax when he does.

My grandfather really does have the best intentions for us.

“Hello Monica,” Emil says warmly. I can see his gun tucked into the back of his pants as he fixes his suit jacket and I take a deep breath. My hand holds onto the railing for added stability as I walk the rest of the way down the stairs, and Emil holds out his hand to help me. “We’re making our way through the house now.”

“You‘ve been making good time,” she notes. “The lock box told me where to find you once I finished my meeting.”