I had a box of cupcakes on the passenger seat, and butterflies going crazy in my stomach. At that moment, I was on my way to my second session with Liam. A man who, it seemed, had made quite the impression on Owen. This was hard to miss when the last couple days had been Liam this, Liam that, and “When can I paint with Liam again?”

Owen was firmly in the Liam fan club. I wish I had the same confidence about where I stood on the topic.

As it was, I was all fluttering nerves again as I drove into central Hoffman. This time—when I let myself admit it, which had been a battle of its own all last night—the feeling had nothing to do with the tattoo. I had complete faith that the tattoo would turn out perfect and I would never second guess the decision to have it done.

The artist, on the other hand, the name of the game with him was second-guessing.

The light I’d been sitting at turned green, and I accelerated, wondering again if bringing cupcakes to thank him for watching Owen was awkward. I could see the shop, so it was kind of time to decide. Not that I wanted to take cupcakes home.

The car came out of nowhere.

I slammed on my brakes as the asshole flew through the red light, only managing to speed across my path by a hair.

So close. Too close.

Too close…

“You hate that job most days anyway. I’m making enough that you don’t need it. Don’t take that joke they call maternity leave. Just get out of there, and we can figure it out later if you want to start working again.”

“I think this whole conversation might be a bit premature. We’ve been trying for a few weeks. I haven’t even taken a test yet. We don’t know when I might even get pregnant.”

“I’m just saying.”

I rolled my eyes at my husband. He was just using the possibility of us having a baby to give me an excuse to leave my job. He wasn’t wrong, I did hate it. At best, some days were passable just because I was busy enough. The idea of dropping to one income scared me, though. He did make enough, but what if something changed? The early days when we had to scrape by for everything still stuck with me.

I looked through the rearview mirror at Owen, who had drifted off in the back seat. I couldn’t deny that I would love to be home with him.

“What the—”

My gaze shot down through the windshield, and I saw it. The car. It was on the wrong side. It was coming right at us. Too fast. Way too fast. It was…

We were swerving. To the right. Not fast enough…

I screamed. Anything to try and stop the onslaught. I couldn’t see it. Not again. Not like the nightmares that still came too often. The horrible replay of the last moments I saw my husband alive. When I’d watched as he was taken from me.

A horn sounded, long and insistent, behind me, and I realized I was still stopped at the intersection. Grasping onto every thread of false calm I could manage, I started moving again. My hands shook so badly I feared I’d start jerking the wheel. Nausea clawed at me. I just had to make it half a block. Just right there and I could turn into the parking lot and…

What?

What could I do?

I couldn’t do a goddamn thing. Nothing could turn back the time and keep us from going out that day. Nothing was bringing Joel back. Nothing could change the fact if I had been pregnant, the trauma of the crash had stolen that life from me, too.

I pulled into the parking lot, slamming on the brakes harder than I meant to in a spot. My body flung forward against the seat belt, and that sensation broke me.

The memories rushed in like an onslaught.

Everything hurt. Why did it all hurt?

“Ma’am?” Who was that? “Ma’am, are you with me?”

Well, I was here. Wasn’t I?

Where was here?

We’d been at the store. Applesauce, milk, cereal, potatoes, chicken, pregnancy test.

We forgot the cereal.

We were on the way home when I realized it.

We were in the car.

We…

My eyes flew open. I didn’t recognize where I was. Who were these people?

“Where is my son? My husband?” I demanded, trying to get up. I had to find them. Had to see them. We were…

“You were in an accident. You’re in an ambulance. We’re on the way to the hospital.”

“Where is my son?” I cried.

“He was taken separately. He went first. He doesn’t seem to have any major injuries, but they always want to check quickly when they’re so young.”

No major injuries. Okay. Owen would be okay.

“My husband?”

He glanced over where someone else was up near my head, but I didn’t look. “They’re still getting him free of the vehicle.”

They couldn’t get him out. Why? Why couldn’t they get him out?

“Mrs. Larson.”

I looked over, and there was my baby.

My beautiful boy.

The nurse brought him to me, and I wrapped him tightly in my arms.

My little Owen.

“Is he okay?”

“He’s just fine, ma’am,” she assured me. “A couple scrapes. You might notice some bruising from the car seat, but there are no signs of any injuries beyond that.”

Just fine.

He was just fine.

Owen clung back to me, crying. He was scared; he didn’t understand any of this.

I was, too.

“My husband?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t know. I’ll go see what I can find out.”

She left.

I wasn’t sure I wanted her to come back.

“Mrs. Larson,” the doctor addressed me, and my head started shaking.

I didn’t know how I knew. He’d only said my name, and I still knew what was coming. I couldn’t hear it. It couldn’t be true.

“I’m so sorry.”

No. No. No.

I wanted to scream, to terrify the doctor into shutting up, into leaving and taking the words with him. The scores didn’t come out, though. Just a broken sound I barely recognized as my voice. “No.”

“We did everything we could, but your husband didn’t make it.”

He’d swerved right.

He’d done it on purpose. He’d put his side in front, keeping me and Owen as far as he could from the impact.

Owen was safe. Asleep on my lap, not able to understand everything we lost.

We lost everything. Everything that mattered but each other.

“Kate.”

My name passed through my thoughts. It sounded like Joel.

But it couldn’t be him.

“Katie.”

I understood then. It wasn’t Joel. Daz was here. He knew.

“He can’t be gone.”

My voice was rough, lifeless. It sounded like how I felt.

“Kate.”

“He can’t. I can’t lose him. Owen can’t.”

Your husband didn’t make it.

“Katie, sweetheart—”

“No! Don’t say it. I can’t hear it. I can’t. Not again.” It’d kill me. Somehow I had to survive this, even if I didn’t know how. I had to for my son. But I couldn’t if someone said the words aloud again. “It’s all I hear. Since the second they said it, it’s just on repeat in my head.”

“I’m here. For you, for Owen. Whatever you need.”

Whatever we needed. We needed Joel back. I needed my husband. Owen needed his daddy.

I stared down at my son, the little scrapes on his soft skin, the blotchy remains of tear tracks on his face. “He doesn’t get it. Not really. He cried until he fell asleep, but I think that was just him feeding off my emotions. He’s still going to wake up and wonder where his daddy is. How do I tell him…”

I heard the knock on my window, but I was too lost to care.

Daz was carrying Owen. Doc had his arm around me to guide me. We were leaving.

Somewhere in this godforsaken building, Joel was all alone.

No. Not him. He was gone.

His body…

I ripped myself from Doc’s arm, making it to a garbage can as the retching started.

The car door opened. A hand cupped my face, then I felt my seatbelt release.

I was crying, jolting with each sob. I could hardly breathe.

Arms moved in behind my back and beneath my knees, and I startled. Looking over, I saw Liam through the blur of the tears. I didn’t fight as he lifted me. I didn’t know where we were going; I couldn’t care.

Your husband didn’t make it.

I let myself curl against his chest. I let him take me wherever we were going.

I had nothing left in me to do anything else.