Chapter 1 - Daryl

"So you're telling me half this shit is useless?" Aaron scoffed, crossing his arms.

I let out a long sigh, crouched down beside the bike, wiping down the rims with a grease-streaked rag.

"Basically," I muttered, dragging the cloth over the metal. "Don't know why the hell you thought you'd need three exhaust pipes for one bike. That's just stupid."

Aaron groaned, throwing his hands up. "I don't know what I'm doing, Daryl! I've told you that a million times."

"Yeah, but still—you've got eyes." I took a slow drag from the cigarette burning between my fingers, knowing damn well I'd have to ditch these clothes before I got anywhere near Ella and the kids. If I walked into the house smelling like smoke, she'd tan my hide six ways to Sunday. "You couldn't see that they were the exact same size? Exact same shape?"

Aaron rolled his eyes and opened his mouth, probably ready to toss some smart-ass remark back at me—but then he froze. His face twisted into a frown, his brows pulling together.

"What the hell?" Aaron muttered, stepping out of the open garage. His gaze was locked on something in the distance. "Daryl, you might wanna come see this."

I groaned, pushing to my feet, dragging one last wipe over the rim before stepping beside him. The late afternoon sun was blinding, making me squint as I followed his line of sight.

Carl.

He was in my front yard, spinning in circles, his movements frantic.

"The hell is he doin'?" I grumbled.

Then I saw what he was holding—something small, something pink. A lump formed in my throat.

Ruby.

My blood turned to ice.

I didn't even hear what Aaron said next. My legs were already moving, feet pounding the ground as I sprinted full speed toward my house.

Carl's eyes went wide when he saw me coming.

I snatched Ruby out of his arms, my hands shaking as I frantically checked her over.

She was safe.

Warm.

Breathing.

But Carl—Carl was pale, his whole body trembling. There was dried blood smeared across his cheek, down his jaw, dripping along his neck like he'd been laying in it.

I opened my mouth to ask what the hell happened, but Carl's next words made my entire body lock up.

"It's not the baby." His voice cracked, his hands gripping my arms, his eyes wild. "She's gone."

The breath punched from my lungs.

"What?" My own voice sounded foreign, hoarse, like it had been ripped straight from my throat.

Carl shook me. "Daryl, it's Ella! She's fucking gone! Ian's gone!" His grip tightened, his fingers digging into my arms, his panic mirroring the storm brewing inside me. "I don't know where they are!"

The world around me blurred, my pulse roaring in my ears.

Gone.

Ella. Ian.

Gone.

My knees nearly buckled.

"What do you mean they're gone?" My voice came out rough, uneven. "Did they go to one of Ian's friends' houses?"

Carl's nostrils flared, his chest rising and falling fast. Then, without warning, he shoved me—hard.

"Oh my fucking god, Daryl!" His voice was raw, wild with panic. His fingers dug into my arms, shaking me like he could force the words through my thick skull. "Fucking listen to me, dumbass! Paul knocked me out when I brought the kids home! Ella came back looking for us and now—" His voice cracked. "Now they're gone!"

A sound ripped from my throat, something sharp and guttural, something that didn't sound human.

Fear slammed into me like a truck.

Cold, paralyzing panic.

I couldn't fucking breathe.

"What?" The word barely made it past my lips. My brain refused to process it, refused to put the pieces together because that would make it real.

Carl's face was red, his eyes shining with fury and something close to desperation. "Are you fucking stupid?!" he roared, shoving me again. "THEY'RE FUCKING GONE!"

The words hit like a bullet to the gut.

I staggered back, sucking in sharp, ragged breaths as my mind finally caught up.

Ella.Ian.Gone.

Aaron was standing beside me now, his face grim, waiting for me to move, to do something. I tried to shove Ruby into Carl's arms, but he jerked away.

"I'm coming with you." His voice was steel, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. "That asshole hit me in the face with a gun and took the chick who's basically been my mom since mine died. I'm coming with you."

I didn't argue.

Aaron stepped forward, plucking Ruby from my hands without a word. He knew. He fucking knew I couldn't protect her and find them at the same time.

I spun on my heel, taking off toward the armory.

Carl was right behind me.

We checked out weapons, my hands moving on autopilot as I loaded a rifle and grabbed my crossbow. My body was running on muscle memory, but my mind was miles away, filled with nothing but her.

Ella.

I had to find her.

I had to get to her before it was too late.

And Paul?

Paul was already fucking dead.

We scoured the area around the house, my heart hammering as I searched for anything—any sign of where they'd gone. Then I saw them.

Tracks.

Ella's footprints were clear, pressing deep into the dry earth, the marks sharp and deliberate. She wanted me to follow. If I hadn't been so blinded by panic, by fury, I might've smiled with pride. She was smart. She wasn't going down without a fight.

But something was missing.

Ian's footprints.

There weren't any tiny shoe prints beside hers.

A fresh wave of rage crashed through me, scorching hot and all-consuming. That meant one of two things—either Ella had been forced to carry him, or that motherfucker Paul had.

I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth ached, my grip tightening on the crossbow strapped across my back. I would kill him. I would make him suffer.

Carl and I scaled the wall without hesitation, hitting the ground running.

We followed her trail, moving fast but careful, eyes darting, ears tuned in to the dead silence around us. Then we hit a suburban neighborhood, a cul-de-sac with cracked pavement and abandoned houses, and the tracks—stopped.

I yanked at my hair in frustration, spinning in place, scanning every inch of the street.

"Fuck!" The word tore from my throat, raw and ragged. "They could be anywhere!"

Carl let out a slow breath beside me, but he didn't move. His eyes were on the ground, locked onto something I hadn't noticed in my blind rage.

"Look." He gestured to a thin line of dirt streaked across the pavement, barely noticeable. A trail.

My stomach clenched.

"It keeps going," he muttered, tracing the path with his eyes. "You think it's her?"

I didn't hesitate.

"I know it is," I said.

Carl nodded, and we took off again, following the barely-there trail. But after a few yards, it was gone—swept away by the wind, by time.

Three houses stood at the end of the street, windows dark, doors shut, eerily quiet.

We stopped, standing still as statues, listening.

Then I heard it.

A muffled cry. Soft, barely there.

A sound that made every hair on my body stand on end.

My eyes snapped to the house on the left—boarded-up windows, a door barely hanging on its hinges, a place meant to trap someone inside.

I shouldered the crossbow, lifting the rifle into my hands. Beside me, Carl readied his silenced pistol.

We moved toward the porch.

Silent.

Lethal.

And ready to kill anyone who stood in our way.

The house was too quiet.

The front door was cracked, open just a sliver, the space between the frame a black void that made my pulse hammer in my ears. Every muscle in my body tensed as I listened.

Then I heard it.

"Fuck, Ellie," Paul's voice, low, breathless.

I didn't think. I didn't fucking hesitate.

I moved.

The door slammed open with a deafening crack as I charged inside. My eyes barely registered the scene—Paul on the couch, his legs resting between Ella's parted knees, his hand gripping her thigh, his face too fucking close to hers.

A feral snarl ripped from my throat, my body working faster than my mind. My hands were on him before he could even turn.

I tackled him off the couch, his body slamming into the floor so hard the wood groaned beneath us. My fingers wrapped around his throat, squeezing, crushing. I felt the skin split beneath my nails as I dug in, as his airway collapsed beneath my grip.

I wanted to kill him.

My fists rained down, unrelenting, bone meeting flesh, the wet crack of cartilage breaking under my knuckles. Paul barely had time to lift his hands before I shattered his nose, before I split his cheekbone, before I pounded his fucking teeth in.

He gurgled something, blood bubbling over his lips, but I didn't stop.

Couldn't stop.

I wanted to hear him scream. I wanted him to feel the kind of pain that never fucking left, the kind that lived in the marrow of his bones, that made him wish I had just finished the job.

Something tore in my hand—skin, tendons, I didn't fucking know. Pain exploded through my fingers as I slammed my fist down again, and again, and again. My knuckles split open to the bone, mixing my blood with his, the warmth of it soaking into my skin.

I barely registered the moment Carl's body slammed into mine, knocking me sideways.

I hit the ground with a grunt, still wild with rage, my mind nothing but static. My hands scrambled, instinct taking over as I grabbed the first thing in my reach—Carl's throat.

His blue eyes widened, coughing, choking, hands gripping my wrist—but then I saw him.

I saw him.

Carl.

Not Paul.

I let go immediately, shoving off of him as he rolled away, coughing, hacking, his face red.

I blinked rapidly, the blood in my eyes burning, trying to clear my vision. My chest was heaving, my lungs burning as I forced myself up on trembling arms.

And that's when I saw her.

Ella.

Hunched on the couch, shaking violently, her eyes wide, glassy, spilling silent tears. Carl knelt beside her, avoiding looking at her, his jaw clenched so tight his teeth might fucking break.

Her clothes were a mess—her pants shoved down to her ankles, her bra and shirt twisted up over her chest, the skin there red, bruised, violated.

I stopped breathing.

Something sharp, something lethal, punched through my ribs, so deep, so unbearable, I couldn't move.

Carl was helping her stand, helping her fix her clothes with careful hands, with a gentleness that made my stomach fucking churn because that should have been me. I should have gotten to her first.

But I was too busy beating that piece of shit into the fucking ground.

I turned my head.

Paul was still sprawled on the floor, blood pouring from his mouth, his nose, his everything.

And yet, he was still breathing.

Barely.

My stomach clenched, my vision whited out for a second before I turned back to Ella. She was looking at me now, her chest stuttering with shallow breaths, her fingers clinging to Carl's sleeve like he was the only thing tethering her to this world.

And I realized—I had never seen her look so afraid before in my life.

Not of Paul.

Not of what happened.

She was afraid of me.

Of what I had just done.

Of what I still wanted to do.

And suddenly, I didn't feel like a man anymore.

I felt like a fucking monster.

A loud, wailing cry split through the air, high-pitched and raw with terror. It jolted through me like lightning, white-hot and searing, burning away every other thought until only one remained.

Ian.

I moved on instinct, following the sound, my heart slamming into my ribs with every step. It was coming from a room down the hall, the door locked up tight with a thick, rusted padlock.

"Ian?" My voice was hoarse, frantic.

"Daddy!" His broken little voice cracked on a sob, trembling with panic.

My breath hitched. My hands curled into fists. My fucking baby.

"Get away from the door, baby, I'm comin' in!" I barked, the words coming fast, sharp, barely restrained.

I didn't hear his response before I slammed my shoulder into the wood. Pain burst through my arm, but I barely felt it. I hit it again. Again. On the third time, the door splintered and gave, wood snapping apart as I staggered inside.

Ian was curled against the wall, his tiny body shaking, his face streaked with tears, his arms wrapped around himself like he was trying to disappear.

His eyes met mine.

Then he was in my arms.

"Daddy!" His sobs hitched, his little hands gripping at my shirt, clawing at me like he thought I might disappear if he didn't hold on tight enough.

I crushed him to my chest, pressing frantic kisses to the top of his head, his cheeks, his trembling fingers. He was shaking so bad I could feel it in my bones.

"Gotcha, baby. I gotcha." My voice cracked, my throat thick with something raw, something I couldn't choke down. "You're safe now, okay? You're safe."

Ian just cried, fisting my shirt so tight my chest ached.

I didn't let go. I carried him back down the hall, holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping me tethered to this earth.

Ella was standing now, leaning into Carl for support, her body trembling. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself, but her head snapped up the second she saw us.

Her face crumpled.

"Ian."

She tore him from my arms before I could even register it, cradling him against her chest like she was afraid someone might rip him away again.

"I'm so sorry!" she sobbed, pressing her forehead to his. "I couldn't save you, baby! I'm so sorry!"

"Mommy!" Ian whimpered, his little arms looping around her neck, burying himself into her.

Ella cried harder at the sound of his voice, rocking him gently, whispering his name over and over again like it was a prayer.

I swallowed hard, stepping closer, reaching for them, needing to feel them both in my arms.

But then—Ella flinched.

She pulled back, pressing herself tighter against Carl, gripping Ian like I was something to be afraid of.

My stomach plummeted.

My hand froze in midair.

"Ellie," I whispered, my voice barely there, my chest tightening so hard it felt like a fist had wrapped around my lungs. "Baby, it's just me."

"Don't." Her voice was sharp, raw, her eyes darting to my outstretched hand like it might strike her.

My throat closed.

"Please don't touch me," she whispered.

I couldn't breathe.

It was like a knife, cold and merciless, sinking deep between my ribs, twisting until I thought I might collapse under the weight of it.

She didn't want me to touch her.

She was trembling. She was afraid.

Of me.

My mind reeled, images flashing behind my eyes in jagged, disjointed pieces.

Paul.

Paul on top of her. His hands on her. His voice moaning her fucking name.

A roar ripped through me.

I didn't hit him hard enough.

If he was dead, I'd bring him back and kill him again.

I turned, my vision tunneling, my body moving on pure instinct, ready to tear that son of a bitch apart piece by fucking piece—

But Carl shoved me back.

"It's over," he said, his voice firm, steady. His hands were raised, his body tense, like he was preparing for me to swing.

My hands clenched into fists, my entire body vibrating with unspent rage, with something worse, something darker, something suffocating.

"We have them back," Carl murmured. "Let's just go."

I exhaled sharply, my breath ragged, uneven, my vision swimming as I turned back to Ella and Ian.

She wasn't looking at me.

She was clinging to Carl's arm instead, her fingers wrapped around his so tight her knuckles were white. Carl didn't say anything, just squeezed her hand back and tugged her toward the door.

And I was left standing there, blood drying on my knuckles, my own wife shrinking away from me.

I had never felt more fucking lost in my life.

The walk back to Alexandria was a blur, but the weight in my chest never let up. It settled there like a stone, heavy and suffocating, pressing against my ribs with every goddamn step.

Ella stayed ahead of me, gripping Carl's hand so tight I thought she'd break his fingers, Ian clutched against her chest. I kept my distance. She had asked me not to touch her, and I would respect that. Hell, I'd carve it into my bones if that's what she needed.

But it didn't stop the ache that tore through me.

I was supposed to protect her. I was supposed to keep her safe. And I had failed her.

The gates of Alexandria creaked open as we stepped inside. The people standing guard took one look at us—at the blood on my hands, the bruises blooming on Ella's skin, the way she moved like a ghost—and didn't say a word. Nobody tried to stop us. They just let us pass, their eyes flickering with questions they didn't dare ask.

Ella didn't hesitate. She didn't slow. She just walked straight down the street, up the porch, and through our front door without looking back. Still holding onto Carl, still gripping Ian like she'd disappear if she let go.

And then, as soon as she made it to the living room, she let them both go.

Without a word, without a glance, she bolted up the stairs and slammed the bedroom door.

The sound echoed through the house like a gunshot.

I flinched.

Ian tugged at my sleeve. I looked down at him, really looked at him for the first time since I carried him out of that hellhole. His face was streaked with dried tears, his bottom lip wobbling even though he was trying to be strong.

"Dad?" he rasped, his voice hoarse from screaming. From crying. "Can I go lay down?"

I swallowed around the lump in my throat and reached my hand out to him.

"Yeah, buddy," I said, my voice thick. "Let's get you on up there."

He took my hand without hesitation. I led him up the stairs, changed him into pajamas, tucked him into bed. I smoothed the curls off his forehead, running my fingers gently through his hair the way Ella always did, but his little body was still tense.

He turned onto his side, facing the wall.

"She didn't mean it," he whispered.

I frowned. "Mean what, buddy?"

"When she—when she didn't wanna be near you," he sniffled, voice cracking. "She loves you. I know she does."

I swallowed hard. His little hands were gripping the blanket so tight his knuckles had gone white.

"I know she does too," I murmured, pressing a kiss to his temple. "She's just scared right now, okay? But we're gonna make sure she's safe. That you're safe. I promise."

Ian nodded, squeezing his eyes shut. I pulled the blanket up to his chin, left the door cracked open, and forced myself to walk away.

I made it halfway down the stairs before I stopped.

Carl was still standing in my kitchen, leaning against the counter, his hands braced against the edge. His face was pale, his jaw clenched so tight I could see the tick in his cheek. He lifted his head when he saw me.

"What he did—" Carl started, his voice low, rough.

"Don't," I rasped. My throat felt raw, shredded from all the rage I had swallowed down.

Carl exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. His blue eyes burned with something dark. Something that had nothing to do with childhood.

"He raped her, Daryl."

I flinched. The words sliced through me, jagged and cruel, like a blade twisting between my ribs.

"I know everyone thinks I'm still a kid," Carl continued, his teeth gritted, his whole body vibrating with barely contained fury. "But I'm fourteen. I know about the awful shit that can happen. If you hadn't killed him, I would have."

I looked at him then—really looked at him. The blood dried on his skin. The exhaustion weighing down his limbs. The hollow look in his eyes. He had been the one holding Ella when I walked into that house. He had been the one who got her back on her feet. He had seen her like that.

I wanted to tell him he shouldn't have had to. That he was just a kid. But I knew that wouldn't mean shit.

Because Carl Grimes wasn't just a kid anymore.

And neither was Ian.

The thought made me sick.

"I know," I said finally, my voice a graveyard of emotions I didn't know what to do with. "I know."

Carl nodded once. No more words were needed. He pushed off the counter, raking a hand through his hair, his shoulders hunched like he was carrying the weight of the whole damn world.

A sharp knock at the front door pulled me from my thoughts, yanking me back into the too-quiet house, into the heavy weight pressing down on my chest.

I took a slow, deep breath, trying to keep my emotions in check, and made my way over, pulling the door open.

Deanna. Rick. Maggie. Aaron.

They stood on my porch, their faces tight, expectant. I didn't say a word, just stepped aside, letting them in.

Rick came up short the second he spotted Carl standing in the kitchen, arms crossed, dried blood streaking the side of his face.

"Carl?" Rick's voice was sharp, his brow furrowed as he took in the state of his son. "What the hell happened?"

Carl barely glanced at him. "He took Ella," he said flatly. His voice was rough, hoarse. "He hit me in the face with a gun."

Rick's hands clenched into fists, his jaw ticking as something dangerous flickered in his eyes. But he didn't say anything. Not yet.

Deanna stepped forward, her expression grim. "Daryl," she said carefully, like she was afraid of setting me off. "What happened? Is Ella back? Ian? Are they safe?"

I nodded once, crossing my arms as I leaned against the kitchen island.

Deanna exhaled, some of the tension draining from her shoulders. "Good," she murmured. "Where is Paul?"

Carl answered before I could. "Dead."

The word hung in the air, thick and final.

Deanna's lips pressed into a tight line. "How?" she asked, her eyes locking onto mine.

I uncrossed my arms, lifting my hands into the light. My knuckles were raw and torn, the skin split deep, smeared with dried blood—his and mine.

Deanna's face paled. "Oh my god," she whispered. "Daryl, your hands..."

"It's fine," I said, my voice flat. "Bastard got what he deserved."

Deanna swallowed, something uneasy shifting in her expression. "You... you beat a man to death?"

Her tone—judgmental, disapproving—lit something in my chest.

That rage, the one I'd barely kept tamped down, started to coil and rise, seething just beneath the surface.

I pushed off the counter, stepping closer, letting every ounce of my fury roll off me in waves.

"Don't you fuckin' judge me," I growled, my voice low, dangerous. "I ain't gonna tell you what he did, because I respect my wife. But I'll tell you this—he deserved every second of it."

Deanna's lips parted, like she wanted to argue, but I didn't let her.

"He took my son," I spat, my hands shaking at my sides. "My four-year-old child. He kept him locked up, terrified, away from his family. He took my wife. He put his fuckin' hands on her. And you got the goddamn nerve to stand here, in my house, and ask me how?"

Deanna's eyes darted toward Rick, toward Maggie, but neither of them spoke. Rick just stared at me, his face unreadable.

"I did what any man would do," I continued, my voice rising. "I did what a father would do. I don't care what any of you think. I don't care if you see me as some wild fuckin' animal. I don't care if you think I went too far. My child was in danger. My wife was in danger. I did what I had to do."

Deanna took a step back, her mouth tightening.

I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head.

"And if any of you think for a second that Paul was Ian's father just because he fucked up and knocked up my wife before the world went to shit, you can take that thought and kiss my ass! He wasn't his father! He was never his father." I clenched my jaw, barely keeping the rage from spilling over completely. "Ian is mine."

Silence filled the room, thick and suffocating.

Rick exhaled through his nose, his gaze still locked on me. His face was unreadable, but his fists were tight, his knuckles white.

Deanna didn't back down. I had to give her that. If anything, she squared her shoulders, meeting my rage with a steady, unwavering calm.

"I don't blame you, Daryl," she said, her voice even, careful. "I would've done the same for my own children, and they're grown."

Her words took some of the heat out of my blood, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough to douse the fire still burning in my chest.

I exhaled sharply and took a step back, my hands still trembling at my sides. "Then what the hell are you here for?"

Deanna let out a slow breath. "To check on you. On your family. To make sure you're all okay." She hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line. "And to offer my apologies."

I frowned, barely keeping my glare in check.

"I should have listened to you," she admitted. "You're a recruiter for a reason. Aaron trusts your instincts, and I trusted his judgment. I thought you were letting your emotions cloud your call. That you were just jaded by what Ella had told you about their past. I didn't see it. Not until now." Her shoulders lifted slightly before falling with the weight of her regret. "I was wrong, Daryl. I should've realized that much sooner. I'm sorry."

I grunted in response, not trusting myself to say anything.

It wasn't enough. No apology would ever be enough.

But at least she finally saw it. At least she finally knew.

Deanna glanced around the room, taking in the mess, the dried blood on my hands, the weight pressing down on everyone in the house. Then, after a beat, she nodded.

"I'll leave you to it, then," she murmured.

She gave Maggie a look, then Rick, then Aaron, before finally turning and walking out the door.

The second it shut behind her, Maggie turned toward me. "Daryl," she started, her voice careful, cautious. "What happened?"

I shook my head. My hands curled into fists at my sides, the pain of my split knuckles nothing compared to the ache in my chest. "I don't know," I admitted, my voice rough. "I ain't asked, and I ain't about to sit here and guess." My jaw clenched so hard it ached. "But what I saw... it wasn't pretty."

A beat of silence stretched between us.

Then Carl spoke.

"He raped her."

The words sent a violent shockwave through me.

I whirled on him, my pulse hammering, my vision tunneling.

"I just fuckin' said—"

"Come on, Daryl," Carl snapped, cutting me off. "You saw her clothes. You saw the blood. Don't act like you didn't."

My breath hitched in my throat.

I had seen.

I had seen too much.

I had seen her shaking, her pants still tangled around her ankles. I had seen the bruises starting to bloom on her skin, the way she curled into herself, away from me. I had seen the way she clung to Carl instead of me, like she didn't trust me to touch her. Like I was part of the problem.

I had seen all of it.

And it was killing me.

Rick exhaled sharply, his face pale. His hand went to the side of his holster like he needed something to hold onto. "You saw what he did?" he asked Carl, his voice lower than I'd ever heard it.

Carl didn't flinch. "She needed me," he said simply, his expression unreadable, his arms locked tightly across his chest. "You would've done the same."

Rick held his stare for a long moment before finally nodding.

"Let's go home."

Rick clapped Carl on the shoulder, then led him toward the door.

They left without another word, leaving me standing there, blood still drying on my hands, my stomach twisted into knots, my heart hammering in my chest.

Maggie and Aaron lingered.

I could feel their eyes on me, waiting, watching.

But I had nothing to give them.

Not now. Not when the truth was settling like acid in my stomach, burning me from the inside out.

Maggie cradled Ruby in her arms, her expression grim, her usual warmth dulled by everything that had happened. The baby squirmed slightly against her, making a small, unhappy noise as if she could feel the tension radiating from every person in the room. Maggie adjusted her hold, soothing her gently before stepping toward me.

I opened my arms automatically, and she carefully transferred my daughter into them, her small weight grounding me for just a second. I inhaled sharply, breathing in the faint, comforting scent of her skin. She was warm, safe. She had no idea what had just happened. She had no idea that the world she was born into had just gotten darker.

Maggie lingered, hesitating, her eyes darting toward the stairs before she finally squared her shoulders. Without a word, she turned and started up, each footstep slow, measured, like she was preparing herself for what she'd find behind that door. She lifted her hand and knocked, three soft raps against the wood.

I swallowed hard, my grip on Ruby tightening slightly.

Aaron shifted beside me, his presence quiet but steady. He wasn't looking at me directly, but I knew he was waiting for something, some indication that I was holding it together.

I wasn't.

Not even fucking close.

The blood on my hands had dried, cracked along my knuckles, but I could still feel it, thick and warm, coating my skin. Paul's blood. The bastard's face was barely a face anymore. I'd beaten him until my fists split open, until bone crunched and his body went limp beneath me. I'd done what I had to do. What I wanted to do. And it still wasn't enough.

Nothing would ever be enough.

Not after what he did. Not after what I saw.

Aaron finally exhaled, shifting his weight, pulling me from the downward spiral of my thoughts. "If you want to talk," he said, his voice level, steady. "You know where to find me."

I nodded, but the truth was, I had nothing to say.

There were no words for this.

For the weight pressing down on my chest. For the sickening twist in my gut. For the way my wife, the woman I loved more than life itself, had flinched away from me.

Aaron didn't push. He just patted my shoulder once, firm and reassuring, before turning and making his way toward the door.

I stood there, still holding my daughter, watching as Maggie waited outside the bedroom, knocking again, speaking softly through the door.

Ella hadn't answered yet.

And I didn't know if she ever would.