Chapter 3

I’m actually weirder than you think.

-Text from Baylor to Dante

Dante

I looked at the kid that was mine.

How did I know she was mine?

She looked exactly like my other children had.

All the way down to the bright blue eyes, the shock of white blonde hair, and the heart-shaped birthmark on her neck.

Looking down at this child was one of the hardest things I’d ever done in my life.

The moment that her eyes met mine, I realized the truth.

I, Dante Hail, was a coward.

Lily, my wife, was dead, and Jade and Toni, my two baby girls, had went with her.

Amy, my sister who was responsible for the accident that caused the death of my family, killed herself.

All of that was on me.

I would not be responsible for killing another living being.

I. Would. Not.

Pulling my computer out from where Lily had last left it—underneath the coffee table of all places—I opened it up and placed it on my lap.

Just the act of doing something I used to do when they were alive nearly sent me into a tailspin.

There was nothing to check on anymore. Not a goddamn thing.

Or, at least, there hadn’t been last night.

Tonight would be different.

I looked over at the little girl, who was now sleeping, and pressed the power button.

It took a few seconds for the screen to blink on, and once it had booted up, what I saw caused my throat to tighten.

Now I remembered why I hadn’t picked this computer up for two years.

A picture was on the screen.

One of my family.

I was in the middle while all three girls—my wife and children—kissed me.

It’d been our Christmas card the last Christmas we’d had together. The Christmas right before they’d died.

I was laughing my ass off as Jade, our youngest, gave me more than just kisses in the form of snot and slobber.

She was absolutely adorable.

A moan left my throat as I typed in the password: 1loveJadeToniLily.

Fuck.

As I waited for the laptop to boot up, all I could do was stare at that picture, remembering how happy I’d been.

By the time the main menu was up, I was on the verge of hyperventilating.

A whimper had my head turning, and I blinked as I saw the little girl staring at me with tears in her eyes.

“I… fuck.”

Fuck.

I couldn’t say fuck in front of a little girl!

Lily would’ve kicked my ass had I done that with her around!

I reached forward and picked the little girl up. Old muscle memory took over, and I cradled the little girl—my little girl—to my chest and looked down at her.

“Are you hungry?”

She blinked away her tears, and I studied her.

She really was adorable.

She had that fine, wispy baby hair that looked like it was spun from silk. Her curls were fuckin’ everywhere, and she looked exactly like me and nothing like her mother.

Her mother had long brown hair, dark brown eyes, and an angular face.

This girl was all me.

The computer beeped, making me look away from the little girl, and to the screen.

I frowned, and my eyes took in the reminder on the computer: Change the air filter, lazy bones.

I grinned at my wife’s reminder.

She wasn’t even here anymore, and she was still taking care of me.

Goddammit.

I clicked the X on the corner of the reminder and went to the Chrome app, smiling when I heard Lily in my head say that she would never cheat on Internet Explorer.

Rolling my eyes at that funny memory—funny, but it still fucking hurt, even the happy memories—I typed in the woman’s name into the Google search engine.

“Marianne Genevieve Garwood,” I muttered as I typed.

The search instantly picked up hundreds of hits.

I clicked on the very first article—a news article from Jackson, Mississippi—and waited for it to load.

It didn’t take long.

The headline read: Baby perishes in triple degree temperatures, locked in a car.

Drake Jackson Garwood, thirty-two, a prominent businessman for Corporate Crossroads, leaves infant son in car. The child, Raymond Jackson Garwood, succumbed to heat stroke due to the extreme temperatures in car.

I frowned.

Marianne Garwood, thirty, claims husband intentionally left their son in the car. We have not been able to reach her or Mr. Garwood for comment, but we did reach Mr. Garwood’s attorney, who confirmed his client’s assertions, cited a pending investigation and advised that all media inquiries would be handled by his office.

At press time, Drake Jackson Garwood has not been charged.

A chill passed over me as I back clicked and went to the next article. This one was dated six months later.

Drake Jackson Garwood acquitted for the involuntary manslaughter of his fourteen-week-old son. Mr. Garwood returns back to work but continues to work with other foundations to make sure that this doesn’t happen to any other father.

Something about that soured my stomach and made it summersault.

I back clicked and went to the next hit.

Marianne Garwood missing.

Marianne Garwood kidnapped.

Marianne Garwood’s car found in lake, husband inconsolable.

The more I read, the angrier I became.

I knew I didn’t have the whole story.

Knew it. Felt it in my bones.

My fucking heart hurt for Mary.

I closed my eyes and dropped my head to the back of the couch.

The baby in my arms cried.