“Da-da, it hurts!” Lizzie squirms, tears in her little eyes as I blot her scrapped knee with antiseptic, before I rip the bandage from its wrapper. “Why, da, why?”

“Life, peewee. Mistakes happen, and sometimes they hurt. You didn't do anything wrong. You didn't see the rock that was there when you tripped. Daddy should have held on tighter. You wouldn't have taken such a tumble.”

It fucks me up inside to see her in any pain. Sure, it's normal kid stuff, but every time she looks at me, I see the hundreds of kids I've encountered over the years who weren't so lucky to get away with a boo-boo and a Band-Aid.

That Afghan boy clutching his ma's leg, watching us patrol his village with huge, scared eyes. The market where his old man just got torched by a terrorist fuckwit's bomb still on fire.

The little girl on crutches in that town I couldn't pronounce next to prime mining country. Her father, the warlord my crew had to negotiate with for shipping access, insisted she'd broken both legs in a terrible landslide last rainy season.

But I heard how he slapped around her older brother later that night, how he pressed him to the wall, and might not have stopped if I hadn't shown up when I did. He was in a drug-fueled rage, the shit in the syringes on the dirty bed all he cared to buy with his loot, besides the guns. He never saw me coming when I grabbed him around the neck, pushed the needle in his chest, and emptied its contents directly into his heart.

The kid never said a word when he saw his body. Neither did the girl. Their eyes before we left were all the thanks I needed.

Wright chewed me out when I got back home for letting a 'top notch supplier' die, when I could've sent a medic for his 'overdose.'

I told him to get fucked.

“Da-da, it hurts!” Lizzie whines again, whimpering when I wrap the bandage tight around her knee, giving it a butterfly pat with my fingers.

“Know it does, sweetheart, but you're okay. The knee will heal. We'll both look closer next time we're at the park, and make sure this never happens again.”

“But...but da...you can't see. Can't always look. Not always ever.” Her little brow ripples confusion.

Technically, she's right. Bless her little soul.

I can't keep my eyes on her twenty-four hours a day. Hell, I'm lucky to have twelve hours outside work.

I won't be able to stop the next dozen mistakes her toddler legs bring her to. Not when she's with other kids, or when she's older and heading off to school. Not when she becomes a young woman and starts hanging out with the boys who come sniffing around her.

But damn it, I'll try. I'll try like every dad who ever found that brute, unconditional love like a blow to the gut the first time he held his infant daughter, and he locked eyes with his proudest creation.

She is my soul, my flesh, my life.

I will protect her. I will teach her right from wrong. I will suffer the blame when her face bleeds tears, whether it's over a spilled juice box, or finding out her mother was a screwed up junkie when she's fifteen years older, and we sit down for the inevitable talk.

“Lizzie, love, there are times when I can't always be around, when one of us slips up and somebody gets hurts one way or another,” I say, pausing to kiss her forehead. “But I want you to know...whatever happens, you've got daddy's love. Long as you're with me, you'll never hurt long. Love always heals. I'll always do my best to keep you smiling.”

“Ever, da-ddy?” She smiles, knowing the answer before it's out of my lips. “Ever?”

“Forever, baby girl. No real harm will ever come long as I'm around. Nobody's taking you away.”

* * *

How the fuck was it six months ago?

My legs are numb when I park the truck and we step onto the asphalt outside the high rise with Charlie's firm. Everything concrete is still steaming from sunset.

It's surreal.

One minute, it's just a normal day. I'm looking forward to coming home to my family, hashing out how we'll break the wedding plans over the next week to both sides.

Then I'm on the darkest, coldest ride of my life, gripping the wheel so tight my fingers hurt. It's all I can do not to explode as I flashback to six months ago, when Lizzie slid on gravel in that park, and I swore my love for the thousandth time since she was born.

I'd always be there with love, presence, and strength, I said. Everything a man musters to shield his sweetest innocent from the world.

Except this time, I wasn't. I couldn't be. The bitch showed up without me anywhere, and I wonder if it's for the best because it bought us some time.

I'd certainly be in a cell right now if it was me she'd found, and not Kendra.

I'm gripping Sunflower's hand as we step inside. A vent spews the air conditioning on us full blast as we ride the elevator.

Every minute I'm breaking my promise to my little girl stabs deeper at my soul. Turns my blood dark and toxic.

Lizzie, I'm sorry. I can't let it end like this. Can't let Victor and that disappearing freak who's her mom in name-only take away my sun.

Charlie waits for us in his office. He sits up as soon as we enter, a tall man, his eyes on fire when he looks from me, and then to the woman at my side. “Oh. I thought you'd be alone, Knox,” he says.

Kendra's fingers tighten on mine. “Is my presence here a problem?”

Charlie looks at me. His dark eyes glow like the answer to her question might be yes. What the fuck?

I don't understand, and I damn sure don't like it.

“Charlie, what's wrong?” My voice booms, more venom than I intend creeping into my voice.

My lawyer clears his throat uncomfortably. He lifts his eyebrows for a second, like he's bracing for an asteroid to come crashing through his window overlooking Phoenix. Then, he turns, still not giving an answer, and retrieves a few papers from the far side of his desk.

“Forgive me. I think you'd better see this for yourself. Last page, to be specific. Take a second, flip through it, and...” Try not to shoot the messenger, is what I think he wants to stay. “Take a moment to digest, please. I'll be out here if you need me. I'll do my best to formulate a response once you see what we're up against.”

He doesn't even ask permission to leave. Just gets up and scurries off, leaving Kendra and I alone with the mystery package.

“Go ahead. We'd better read it.” Kendra squeezes my hand, speaking softly, her voice making the ice glazing my back a whole lot colder.

There's no point delaying another second. What's one more ugly shock after a day full of them?

I snatch at the papers and begin flipping through them. Trying to get it over with.

First page is an identical copy of the custody order left on my doorstep. The next have headers from two local psychologists – men I've never seen – both affirming, under penalty of perjury, that the 'corroborating information' attached is serious and informative enough to make a diagnosis in absentia.

I see everything laid out real neat. Like a shopping list for psychosis.

Anger issues. Depression. Unmanaged war trauma.

Verdict: unfit for primary custody.

Particularly when there's two perfectly good guardians waiting in the eyes of Victor's lackeys. Her mother and grandfather will do the job I can't.

“Bullshit,” I hiss, clenching my teeth. Kendra strokes my arm softly, but it isn't helping.

My heartbeat roars in my ears as I flip to the last page. Whatever it is, I know it's bound to piss me off. It's got to be horrific if it's made Charlie jump ship, abandoning his office like he's anticipating I'll turn over his desk, break chairs, smash the twenty foot square barrier between this building's innards and the evening sky.

It's...an ambush.

What's on that page is Kendra's handwriting. Or, rather, a photocopy of a note she's written, judging by how the ink doesn't smudge underneath my numb finger, hot and clammy in its fury.

Each word knocks a new piece of my heart out.

You've ordered a statement regarding Knox Carlisle's fitness for custody. My assessment is as follows, in full compliance with the law, under advice of my own attorney:

Knox Carlisle wants to be a good father, deep down inside. He tries.

But there are times when I worry. Love isn't always enough to cover serious deficits.

Frankly, after living with him for several weeks, I think he lacks the emotional capacity to tend his daughter's needs.

Knox can be intimidating. Self-centered. Angry and violent.

I don't know if this is due to the war or what he does overseas in the diamond business. Maybe it's the lingering mystery over Samantha Wright's disappearance that's made him cold and indifferent. Maybe it's work-related stress. Maybe he was born this way.

It's not my place to say. That's your job.

Let me stress that I don't think this is permanent. He can change. He loves his little girl, and it's not impossible one day he'll be able to deliver the emotional discipline she deserves.

This statement is not meant to be anything except my personal observations, recorded and certified by my counsel, in compliance with the law.

I don't want to believe it's true. The handwritten date above is just a few weeks ago, not long after Gannon opened the gates of hell, and we started making peace.

Timely betrayal. Backstabbing just when I trusted her.

When I turn toward her, shoving her hand away, and we finally lock eyes, I don't know who the fuck I even am.

The old Knox never would've been this blind. He'd have seen it coming.

Loving this woman just cost me my little girl.

“Knox?” Kendra calls my name, panic rising in her voice.

I stand up, pacing the room to the window, running my fingers through my hair. For a second, I contemplate ripping it out. It's not like there's another way to relieve the insanity boiling in my skull every second my back is turned, palm against the glass, knowing she's rammed the knife through my heart.

I can't believe she concealed it this long as well as she did.

“Jesus Christ. You don't really think I...I mean...I don't know what this is.” She's trembling, holding it in her hand. “Knox, I swear, on everything I'll ever love – I did not write this. Please, you have to –“

“I don't have to do shit.” Even I'm surprised how bitterly cold it sounds. My tongue hurts like it's frosted over.

I march past her, ignoring the hot, vicious tears rolling down her cheeks, making a zig-zag for the door. I find Charlie on the balcony just outside, a cigarette hanging from his lips. It falls out the second I grab him by his lapels.

“Whoa, Knox, calm down!”

“Why didn't you tell me, you useless fuck? What am I paying you for?” I'm shaking him like a rabid dog with a squirrel and I don't want to stop.

“Easy. Easy!” Words fly out between his chattering teeth while I fling him around. “Whoa, whoa, holy shit. Knox, please, you're gonna kill me!”

He isn't wrong. I don't throw him against the wall for another few seconds, not until I'm ready to drop the question burning acid through my soul. “Is it her fucking handwriting? Huh?! Did you send this to forensics?”

“Knox!” I stop just short of squeezing his throat. His eyes are huge, and he slumps in my arms, choosing his next words very carefully. I give him a few seconds to gather his breath. “Everything happened so fast. I only got the package here this afternoon. When I called you, and left the voicemail, you didn't get back to me for another hour. By then, you knew what was going on yourself, after Samantha –“

“Yeah, yeah, we both know what happened. Get to the goddamned point. Was it her handwriting?”

His eyes pinch shut, as if he's bracing for an imminent collision. “I fished out her Gannon statement from a few weeks ago and compared the handwriting. Look, Godzilla, I'm no specialist, but...it sure looks the same.”

Fuck.

I let his feet hit the ground, sucking in my own cheeks, instinct clenching my jaw. I taste blood.

“I'm sorry. I didn't have a clue how to break the news with her standing right in front of me. I hate that it had to go down this way, my man. Really, really sorry.” He stiffens to full height, brushing off his jacket in quick, nervous sweeps. “Next time, let's learn to keep our hands to ourselves. Okay, buddy? Or else I'm doubling your retainer.”

I don't care. I've heard enough. I start walking to the elevator.

She's waiting for me next to it, tapping her foot impatiently, sniffing back tears. It's incredible how fast my empathy is obliterated. I don't even acknowledge her presence as my fist crashes into the button on the wall.

“It's not true, Knox. I didn't write a single word. Can't you see the truth?” She's staring through me. I never glance her way, just gaze dumbly at the silver door, wondering how long it'll take to melt a neat hole through it. “Goddammit, say something!”

She snaps first. Grabbing my shoulders, Kendra digs her nails in so hard it should hurt.

If only I could feel anything.

My turn to whip around, pinching her arms, flattening her against the wall. She's breathing the same quick, fierce way that used to turn me on. Incredible how there's no desire to do anything except never lay eyes on this two-timing bitch again.

She'll know my suffering. I brand my hate into those vivid green eyes where I thought I'd find my forever before this afternoon. How the hell could I ever be so stupid?

“I loved you, Kendra. First like a sister, then like my own flesh and blood.” Past-tense chokes me. “Go home. Stay away from Jamie and ma's place for awhile. I'll have a moving company drop your shit off in a few weeks.”

Sadness drowns her eyes. “Knox...you're insane. If you'll just work with me, give us a chance to figure out what really happened.”

So much desperation. Damn if I don't want to believe her. But I'm done being blinded by comforting lies, including the biggest one of all called 'love.'

“Stop fucking talking,” I growl. “Charlie told me everything. It's your handwriting.”

“Screw Charlie! And yeah, I know it is, Knox. I don't deny it. What I can't figure out is how. I'm telling you, and believe me, I get how crazy this sounds, but I didn't fucking writing it!” She's screaming. So loud my lawyer's receptionist shoots a worried look down the hall, one hand on her phone. “Do you think I'd ever do anything to hurt you? Or Lizzie? Why in God's name would I?”

Fear.

Distress.

A love that was two weeks too late to blossom in her heart, and maybe truly came after she'd twisted the knife. She wanted her revenge for that night at Danny's house, maybe, and sat on it for fucking years.

None of it matters anymore.

I can't let this get worse. I need to save Lizzie. There's no time for a run-in with security.

“Give me a sixty second head start, and I'll be gone. Call an Uber or a cab home.” The elevator chimes and the doors slide open. I step inside, turn, and look through the tears in her eyes one last time. “I'm sorry, Kendra.”

“No! No, you're not,” she whimpers, wiping her face, considering whether or not she wants to jump inside before the doors slam shut. “If you ever cared, there'd be no apologizing. You'd stay.”

“Wrong,” I say, adjusting my tie. “I'm sorry for your sake, Kendra. You'll have to live with what you've done for the rest of your life. I'm also fucking sorry for myself. I'm the guy who has to come up with a story after Lizzie's back, and explain why she doesn't have a mommy again.”

Her eyes drop. So do mine.

The door closes and I feel the lurch as it drops down the skyscraper.

Next stop is the darkest pit of hell.