"Babe, go to sleep." John's hair brushed my face as he turned his head. I could now see his face from the moon's silver streak that peeked in through the curtains on him. He slid his arm over my waist, locking his hand in the other, which cuffed my bottom. I could feel his breath fanning my cheeks.

"I didn't know you were still awake," I admitted. There was a brief moment of silence as he shuffled against the mattress. His breath was no longer touching my skin. And he was now hovering above me, his elbow digging in the mattress for balance.

"Yeah, that's because you're still awake and if you're still awake, that means you're worried about something"—he eyes slowly pried open—"what's on your mind?"

"It's nothing. I just can't sleep," I replied. My bullshit was obvious.

He rubbed at his eyes and let out a loud scoff. "It's nothing, my ass. Please? Tell me?" His lips met my knuckles as he slid my hand into his.

The urge to spill everything out was bubbling inside. John could help me. He was just as close to the case as Cory was. But I settled with my gut. Even with all the information I'd gathered in the past month or so, I hadn't felt any closer to unveiling the truth. Telling him could risk it all. As selfish as that sounded. I wasn't blind to police procedures. Everything was by the books. I wasn't playing by the books.

With a sigh, I lifted myself up until I was sitting crisscrossed beside him. He copied my movements and made direct eye contact with me.

"I'm scared," I blurted.

He tilted his head, studying me. "Scared?"

I breathed in and released. "Yes, the truth is, that I'm scared. I'm scared of what's to come in this parenting thing. I'm scared of becoming a mother in the next few months. I'm just scared and stressing over things I shouldn't be stressing over."

"Angie, you aren't getting cold feet on me and Rosemary now, are you?" John chuckled. But he stopped when he saw my face. I felt his palms against my cheeks as he leaned in closer. "Talk to me. What's wrong? I want to help."

"I don't know how to explain it. I've been thinking about what's been going on for the past few weeks. How can we bring Rosemary into this world and ensure her safety? How can we promise her a healthy life?

"The children that go missing every day. The crime that we see on TV all the time. The drama that we witness everywhere. Knowing you put your life at risk every day and you could be gone just like Cory the next—"

"Hey, hey. Angie, stop it. What did we talk about before? We're going to do everything we can to ensure that doesn't happen." John shook his head with a frown. "And remember what we promised each other? If worse comes to worst, we'll figure it out like we always do. If you keep overthinking everything before she gets here, nothing good will ever come from it."

I pried his hands off my cheeks, scowling. "But it's true!"

He tensed at my outburst but allowed me to finish.

I threw my hands in the air, and let them fall to my lap. "You can't sit here and tell me it's not true. We're not promised tomorrow, John. So, what the hell am I supposed to think? That you'll always return home to me? You're only one step closer to death every day you step out those doors. Not everything is rainbows and shit. Anything can happen!"

His mouth hung open, clearly at a loss for words.

He swallowed, stuttering, "Angie, where i-is this coming from all of a sudden? I'm not saying everything'll be rainbows and shit," he quoted me with his fingers, "nor am I saying nothing can happen to me or either of us. Of course, we can't control what happens.

"But we're still going to try our best, remember? Since when did any of that change? When Cory and I worked our asses off to make it here, you were our number one supporter. So much so, we've always thought this through when we talked about starting a family together one day.

"All the stakes, the risks, the things we'd do together to protect our family the best we can. All the what if's. But if you've been feeling indifferent, why didn't you just communicate that to me before we decided to have a child? Or better yet, before we made it this far?"

"I know, I know, I just, that was before we lost him, okay!?" I tried to ignore the pang in my chest. My throat tightened, and my heart pounded against my ribcage. He stared at me. That was all he could do.

"So, what are you saying?" I noticed the lump in his throat as he spoke.

"I don't know! I'm just very confused right now. I'm thinking maybe we made a mistake bringing Rosemary into this world, and neither of us are fit to be parents!"

As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. But I couldn't take them back.

"Oh fuck. John, I didn't mean it like that. . . It's just, look, I love you. And don't get me wrong, I have nothing against you and Cory's careers. I'm happy you two were happy. But I just can't shake these fears sometimes, okay?

"I should have brought it up before, I know, and I'm sorry. But I don't think pretending everything will always be okay is how we should handle it. I'm so tired of this. I've had enough of everyone being so annoyingly optimistic!"

At that, he shut his mouth completely. His eyebrows drew together as he frowned at me. I soon realized how insensitive I sounded towards him. But as I opened my mouth to apologize, another pound of guilt punched me in the gut, resulting in silence.

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

"John, I . . . I'm sorry. I just—"

"Ouch, you really mean that. All of us are just annoyingly optimistic, huh?" His laughter was short and timid. It'd been a while since I saw him act like this.

"Is that genuinely all you think we are to you nowadays? Because I'm sorry then. Like really sorry, Angie. I seriously am. And I'm sorry for making your life a living hell every day when I leave these doors. But you know. . .

"I wish you just would have said something sooner, you know? If you didn't want to have Rosemary anymore, or you were having doubts, or second thoughts, or whatever the case, you should've just . . . said something," he said, his tone barely audible.

"John, wait, it's not that I don't want Rosemary anymore, I just . . . shit, I swear that's not what I meant. What I meant was, I don't want you to keep telling me everything will be okay. We don't know that. And I just. . ." I sighed in defeat.

He seemed as though he didn't know what to say anymore. So, he stayed quiet, absorbing my words. His silence went for what felt like hours until he fixed his jaw to speak, a deep shaky breath flowing from his lips.

"I get it, Angie. I do, really. But just so you know, this annoying optimism, as you call it, isn't just pretending. I'm not dumb to our current situation, Angie. I wish you'd stop treating me as if I am. Do you think I'm not scared? Just like you? Because I am. I really am.

"The more I think about him and what happened, the more I fall into a pit of despair. But I just . . . I can't keep dwelling on this feeling. Letting it consume me. It's not helping. It's just not. And you and Rosemary. . . You guys are all the only sense of peace I have left to—" He paused.

Now, it was I who shut my mouth completely. I balled my fists together in front of me, waiting for him to continue. Waiting for him to tell me what's been going through his head. But he couldn't finish his sentence.

"Forget it. I'm sorry." He shook his head, a brief laugh falling from his mouth. "I won't try to help anymore. I'll fall back if that makes you feel better."

My head was spinning. My chest was aching. I felt horrible. The guilt, the lies, the secrets. They were all getting to me. I'd been doing things I knew I shouldn't have been doing. I'd admit, that wasn't a good look on my part for someone so worried about danger. But I couldn't help it.

Every day, I thought about telling him a spirit was haunting me. It didn't even sound right coming from my mouth when I said it aloud. But I couldn't tell him half of the story and not the whole thing. I couldn't tell him all the information and not the sources I got it from. It'd all backfire in my face. The more I thought about it, the more I feared he wouldn't believe me.

"No. John, please talk to me," I begged. My voice cracked. I could feel the tears in my eyes, urging me to hurry up and let them fall. But I wouldn't cry. Not tonight.

John crossed his arms and laid back until his head sunk into the pillow. "It's fine, Angie. I don't want to keep stressing you, so let's not talk about it anymore for now. Make sure you get some sleep." I watched him stare blankly at the ceiling before his eyes drifted closed.

My heart swelled. I sighed and lay on my side, facing the door. Silence paraded through the night, draining the tension from the room and allowing my thoughts to run wild. And all I wanted to do was sob.

* * *

I couldn't tell if I had avoided John or if he had avoided me all morning. That didn't matter, though. I was ending this. I missed my husband. One minute I was thinking about him; the next minute, I was posted outside the station, awaiting a reason to approach him. I'd planned the words in my head all morning.

"Okay, here goes nothing. You got this, Angie. Just walk in there and tell him—ow!" I nearly missed the wall as I struggled to regain my composure thanks to the collision on my shoulder. A hand gripped me tightly by the arms, steadying me.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry! Goodness grief, why does this keep happening?"

"Ah, you're fine! You're fine!" I paused, removing myself from the hands to get a look at him. "It's you again!?"

Fabian scrunched up his face, staring at me as if I'd grown two heads. Then his face fell into a relaxed state. "Wait a minute. Oh, it's you. You're that woman that bailed Eleanor out of trouble. I remember you. I bumped into you here too, a while ago."

"Oh, so you remember that. . ." I laughed nervously.

"Yeah. About that, that brat didn't cause you any trouble, did she?" he asked. "Because if she did, I'll let Hank know. He was really worried about you when you left."

I shook my head, waving both my hands at him. "No, no. She was fine. She was just a little upset. Nothing I can't handle. Tell Hank I said I'm okay. Thanks."

"Okay, good." He nodded at me and stepped off to the side.

When he was far enough, his hand sneaked into the breast pocket of his jacket, yanking a cigarette out. The cigarette soon found its way between the opening of his lips and he whipped out a lighter, lighting the end of the cigarette on fire.

I couldn't help but stare. As the cigarette burned to ashes, he swallowed a breath, sucking in the heavy smoke. I could see it now—burying the inside of his chest—his heart pumping faster from the adrenaline. It was just like the first day I saw him at the cemetery.

I should have walked inside the station and minded my business. I should have turned and kept going as I was doing in the first place. But my mouth had other plans.

The question rolled out on its own. "Um, is it okay if I ask you something?"

Fabian's lips puckered around the cigarette, a cold, distraught twinkle in his eyes. It sentenced me to be judged. After a few more puffs, he dragged the edge of the cigarette against the brick building wall. Then, he kicked off the wall.

"What is it?" His gaze hardened the closer his feet led him until he was a fair distance from me.

"You seem to really dislike Eleanor. Has she tried stealing from Hank's store in the past?"

Fabian laughed, a thick forced noise. "Don't be fooled by that little girl. She's as troublesome as they come."

"Oh." I hummed.

"Well, I guess I'm being too hard on her," he scratched the back of his head, then proceeded, "her so-called friends are the troublesome ones. She's just a follower. They're always in the store making a mess. But it's the first time she's ever tried to pull a stunt like this.

"Why? Did her mother ask? If Mrs. Drake wants to know, she should come see what her child has been up to herself. The next time she might be able to is from a jail cell if Eleanor doesn't get her shit together." Fabian snarled. An eye roll followed suit.

"No, no," I quickly defended, "it's not like that. Wait, do you know Eleanor and her family?" The way he talked about them, I'd have guessed he knew them personally. His tone leaked nothing but raw annoyance.

"I wouldn't say I knew them personally. . ." He sighed, seeming to have drifted into thought.

"We didn't meet them until that little girl's birthday party. We weren't close to the family or anything. However, my mother did join a neighborhood watch group after Helena and my cousin went missing that day. There were quite a few familiar parents there, too, including Lucinda. But my mother didn't trust her one bit.

"She was convinced Eleanor had something to do with their disappearance because she found out Eleanor was the last person Helena and Shayla were seen with when she lost them in the park that August day. Talk about irresponsible. But we don't talk about it. Well, we try not to anymore. My mother left the group soon after. Probably like a couple weeks after. She despises Eleanor." He shrugged.

That must've been the neighborhood watch group Tiffany was talking about. Tiffany made it seem like Carmen left because she was grieving. But no, it appeared she was angry and resentful of the Drake's.

As if he realized how much information he'd just spilled, he snapped himself out of it. "But that's nobody's business but ours. What's done is done. And there's nothing we can do to change that. I just want that little girl to stay far away from me until she can get her act together," he spat. I flinched and took a step back, allowing him to march past me.

Damn, he stormed off before I could pry.

Had he just said what I thought he said? There was a point in time when Eleanor watched over Helena and Shayla during the birthday party. . .

That meant the Drake family had attended the birthday party too! But this was after Mary's disappearance. If Tiffany didn't know anyone other than the people she could name, that meant everyone else was still up for decision. Someone could be stripped of their innocence easily.