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“Daddy!”

I catch her automatically, wrapping my arms around her. For one sickening second, all I can think about is that yesterday, I almost had to come home and tell her Blair wasn’t coming back.

“Hey, baby girl.” I kiss her cheek and force a smile. “Have you been good for Nana and Gramps?”

“Obviously.” She pulls back to look behind me. “Did Blair come?”

“No, Penny. But you’ll see her tonight.”

That’s all it takes to make her smile. Aspen wiggles out of my arms and runs off to collect her things as Mom walks into the foyer.

She doesn’t say anything before pulling me into a hug.

“Oh, my son.” Her voice cracks.

“Mom, don’t cry.” Mostly because I’ll probably join her.

I can’t remember the last time I properly cried, but somehow, I’ve nearly burst into tears about five times in the last twenty-four hours.

Mom pulls back, keeping her hands on my arms. “Is Blair okay?”

“She’s sore, but physically, she’ll be okay.” I glance toward the room Aspen disappeared into and lower my voice. “Emotionally? I’m not sure. We haven’t really talked about it yet, and I don’t want to push her.”

Mom studies me for a second. “And you?”

“I’m fine.”

Her eyebrow rises.

“Dean.”

I look away, rubbing a hand over my jaw. “She almost died, Mom. He could’ve fucking killed her.”

Saying it out loud makes my chest tighten.

“I know,” she says gently.

“I walked in and saw his hands around her throat.” I stop, swallowing hard as the image comes roaring back. “I thought I was too late.”

“You weren’t.”

“I could’ve been.”

“But you weren’t,” Mom repeats, her eyes softening. “You got to her.”

I nod because I don’t trust myself to speak.

“Thank you for taking care of Aspen,” I finally manage.

“There’s no need to thank me. She’s my granddaughter.” Mom rubs her hands down the front of her sweater, composing herself. “I made chicken pot pie for you to take home. I figured you could all use some comfort food.”

She gestures for me to follow her into the kitchen.

“Any chance you also have a recipe for mac and cheese?” I ask. “Blair requested it.”

“Of course I do.” Mom hands me the covered dish before reaching for her handwritten recipe book.

She claims the thing is being left to us in her will. Honestly, I swear she’d save that book before anything else if the house caught fire.