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But I have to handle this in the right way because I’m not going to lose them again.

“I think it’s going to have to be when she goes to work. Otherwise, the boy is usually around.”

“You’ll know when the moment is right. Are you sure you don’t want us to come help?”

“What can you possibly help with?”

“Moral support.”

I huff out a laugh. “I appreciate it, but I think I’m good. What’s the status on the project?”

“It’ll be ready by the time you get back.”

“Good. Thanks, brother.”

“Good luck.”

He hangs up, and I shove my phone in my pocket and stare at my girl. She and our son—our son—are talking as she arranges food on a plate and then passes it over to him. I notice that she eats as she cooks, so she doesn’t actually sit down to consume a meal.

That’s going to change. I’ll hire a fucking chef so my wife can sit with us and eat her food.

I don’t love this neighborhood. It’s not horrible, but it’s not great. I know it’s what she could afford with her single nurse’s salary, and I can plainly see that she’s an amazing mom. I always knew she would be. Our son looks happy and healthy. The car she drives is an older model, but it’s not a junker.

It’s all very normal and ordinary, and I’m so fucking proud of her for building this life for the two of them. I know it wasn’t easy for her to be in a place where she knew no one, pregnant and starting over from the ground up.

She’s done well. There’s nothing wrong with this life that she’s carved out for them. It’s . . . fine.

And that’s what pisses me the fuck off because my wife deserves so much more than fine, and I could have given them both the fucking world. I don’t want her to worry about a goddamn mortgage.

So, I paid it off.

I don’t want either of them to worry about anything at all.

She reaches over and brushes her fingers through his blond hair, and everything in me longs to go over there and soak them in. To ask a million questions and hold them both tight.

For the first time in seven years I’m having feelings, and it’s fucking torture.

But the last thing I want to do is scare them. I’m a big man with a lot of fucking tattoos, and I’ve always been intimidating.

My whole job is to make people uneasy. It’s been that way for a long time, even before I met Rina. But she was never afraid of me before.

I’m also a lot worse now. The man she knew was a fucking pussy cat compared to what I am now. I’ve killed more people than I can count in the worst, most painful of ways. I’m the fucking monster in that little boy’s nightmares. How in the hell am I going to be a good husband and father now?

For the next couple of hours I get glimpses of them as they go about their evening routine, and later, after it gets dark and I assume the boy has gone to bed, Rina steps outside with a steaming mug in her hand and sits on the porch. She takes a deep breath, and I wish I could see her face. Is she tired? What does she need?

I could go talk to her. I probably should go talk to her. Every fucking fiber in my body is screaming at me to get my ass over there and be with her.

But then she hangs her head in her hands and her shoulders start to shake, and fuck.

Why are you crying, baby?

Suddenly, her head comes up and she frowns as she wipes her face and turns my way. I dip out of view and hope she didn’t see me.

Her instincts are good. They always were.

When I risk looking at her porch again, she’s gone inside, and I’ve lost my opportunity to talk to her.

Shit.