“And that’s my son Ryan.”
Ryan flashes his sister an exaggerated look before disappearing after her.
Neither of them stops. Neither of them asks who I am. I am just another adult standing in their house, easy to overlook.
My eyes drift across the room.
They catch on a photograph.
It sits slightly crooked on the bookshelf, like it was moved and never placed back quite right. I step closer and pick it up.
A man with kind eyes and a tired smile stands beside her. Elise and Ryan are tucked between them in the picture.
“That’s my husband,” Samantha murmurs.
I glance over. She is not looking at the photo. Her gaze stays fixed somewhere past the wall.
“He’s the one who helped me when I ran from Richard,” she continues. Her voice remains calm, but something heavy sits beneath it. “He was a lawyer. He worked with a shelter for women escaping domestic violence. He made sure they had somewhere safe to land.”
In the photograph his arm rests around her shoulders, protective without looking possessive. Like he understands exactly how to love her.
“He died of cancer two years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly.
The words feel small, but I mean them.
She nods once, then looks past me for a second like she is deciding how much to say.
“I told Elise and Ryan they had a brother,” she says. “I told them he died when he was little. That they never got to meet him.”
Something tight settles in my chest.
Her gaze shifts back to mine.
“After everything that’s been on the news about Seth, I’ve been hesitant to tell them the truth,” she continues. “I don’t want them to get the wrong impression before they even meet him.”
Her voice softens, but it doesn’t waver.
“I want them to meet him first. I want them to see who he actually is. I know he’s a good person.” She pauses, then adds, quieter, “And I think they’ll love each other.”
I nod, even though something in the back of my mind reminds me that Seth and I are barely holding onto this life as it is. We are one mistake away from losing it completely, and there is a real chance this is the last time we will be able to come here for a long time.
Her expression softens again.
“It’s mostly just us now.” Her gaze drifts towards the old photos. “I don’t have any other family.”
I lower the frame back onto the shelf, my fingers lingering against the edge a second longer than they should.
The question slips out before I think about it.
“Why do bad things happen to good people?”
Samantha finally looks at me. Her smile is soft and sad in a way I recognize too well.
“Maybe people like that aren’t meant for this world. Maybe this world isn’t built for people who try to be good.”
That is a truth I don’t want to carry yet.
