Page 164 of Halo

Yesterday in the pickup line, our eyes met through my windshield. She looked pale and exhausted, almost devoid of that usual spark that makes her so unmistakably Leah. She was still beautiful enough to make my chest ache, but she was just … not herself.

I smiled, and she gave me a tired one in return before turning her attention back to the kids.

Every instinct in me screamed to get out of the truck, to go to her and pull her against me. To tell her I’m sorry. To ask for another chance. To do anything that might put that light back in her eyes.

Instead, I stayed where I was.

She'll come to me when she's ready—at least, I hope she will.

I know I can’t buy her forgiveness. That was never the point of the gifts. I just wanted her to have little reminders that she deserves to feel special and cared for—even from a distance.

We're going to get through this.

I have to believe we will.

Grady’s been asleep in my arms for the last twenty minutes, his cheek pressed against my chest while the movie keeps playing in front of us.

I should put him to bed, but I can’t bring myself to move.

Shantae stopped by for our first home visit a few days ago. Walking through the house, she checked out Grady’s bedroom, ensuring he had clean clothes and a safe place to sleep. She glanced through my kitchen and the bathrooms, confirming I had plenty of food Grady would eat, and that medicine, cleaning supplies, and sharp objects were secured and out of reach.

Fire alarms were in working order, and my firearms were locked away.

She spent some time alone with Grady before we discussed school and his medical follow-ups, and how he was adjusting to … well, everything.

Before she left, Shantae told me she had no concerns about his safety or care in my home and would be recommending that his placement with me continue.

I'm not sure if it's appropriate, but I hugged her. How could I not? Because of her, my world was back in my arms.

There are still court dates ahead of us, more home visits, and plenty left to sort through, but for now, Grady is home.

Because I am a man possessed, I scroll back through my text exchanges with Leah as the movie credits roll. I still chuckle at the night she confessed that prime numbers make her uncomfortable.

I stop on the conversation where she told me she was only allowed to listen to Christian music growing up. When she was nine, she went to a sleepover and heard her first secular song. The way she talked about it, I figured she’d gotten her hands on some forbidden heavy metal or some freaky R&B.

Nope.

She listened to Celine Dion.

Apparently, My Heart Will Go On was Leah Harrison’s gateway to a life of sin.

Our last text exchange gives me pause. She’d made a quick grocery run the night before our fight and sent me a picture from H-E-B, asking if the brisket sale was actually a good deal.

That’s it.

Nothing special. Purely domestic with the easy assumption that we’d always have time to talk later.

I’d give anything for another text about discounted meats. Hell, I'd give everything just to have her tell me how much she hates me. Her anger, her tears, her silence—I’d take any piece of her she was willing to give me.

I can't do this anymore.

Before I can stop myself, I text her.

ME: I miss you.

My knee bounces as I stare intently at my phone.

Please, darlin’ … give me something.