Nothing much mattered anymore. I didn’t have much to look forward to since I wasn’t sure I’d ever be as happy as I was when I was with Christopher ever again.

The news on Fulton Rhodes Penitentiary broke days later. The warden was arrested for his crimes against the inmates, and a few COs went down with him. Apparently, he’d become a very rich man thanks to the fight club that no one talked about. Stories filled the TV screen. Ones about corruption and crime—about cover-ups and murder—stories about Christopher.

I watched even though it broke my heart. I watched because they’d occasionally show a picture of him, and I’d get to see him once more.

Charlie posted armed officers outside Diana’s house until the crap with the Rizuttos and the Lanzas died down. The green-light on me seemed to expire the second I stopped digging into Christopher’s case—the second he died and the family’s secrets were no longer at risk. They hadn’t set him up, but they still had things to hide. My digging for his sake had put those secrets in danger.

It all made sense now. The puzzle pieces of Fulton and everyone involved in Christopher’s life fell into place. I didn’t like the image it was painting, and when the puzzle was completely done, I stared at a portrait of a very sad future. One without the man I loved. One that I wasn’t sure I wanted to live to see.

Depression was real.

Monsters were real, too. They didn’t live in our closets or hide under our beds. They squatted within us—coming out occasionally to destroy the things we loved—coming out to destroy us.

EPILOGUE

“LOOK, MOMMY, I’M a monster!” Christopher called out as he ran across the park toward me.

He held his arms above his head and clawed his fingers like he was going to get me.

I laughed and pretended to be afraid. “You are! You’re a scary monster,” I played along.

He growled at me, reminding me so much of his father, before he ran away, laughing on his short, three-year-old legs. His brown hair flapped in the breeze, and his smile lit up the park like the sun above us.

I’d never seen anything so beautiful in my life.

Who knew that two people were capable of producing something so wonderful?

I liked to think that if Christopher knew what he was leaving behind, he would’ve stayed for me, but then again, I thought he knew how unstable he was. Deep down, I know that it wouldn’t have mattered how he left or when he left, he was always bound to leave. He was sick and had he not taken the route he did that day outside my apartment, he would’ve done so at a later point.

Just thinking about him still hurt, but I had to move on. Especially once I found out that a tiny part of Christopher was growing inside me.

Some days when I looked at my son, my heart ached. It was so full of love for him for one, and two, because his eyes were an exact match to his father’s, royal blue and so dark and mysterious that I could never figure out what he was thinking.

His smile reminded me of my final night with Christopher and how happy he’d looked. How free he was in the moment. Little things, like taking longer in the shower or sleeping in a comfortable bed, had meant the world to him. But more than that, I felt happy knowing that his final night on Earth, he was at peace.

Sometimes when I closed my eyes in a silent room, I could still hear his laughter. I’d only heard it a few times, but it stuck with me always. Occasionally before I fell asleep and my tiny, two-bedroom house was quiet, I could still hear his voice. I could almost make out the words I love you, and I’d fall asleep with a smile on my face.

I wasn’t lonely, though. I had Christopher—my little man—my reason for everything I did in my life, and he was more than enough for me. He was all I needed.

“Christopher!” I called out.

We’d been at the park for over an hour, and the southern heat was starting to bake the top of my head. I stood, waiting for him to run back to me, but he was nowhere to be found. I moved across the sandy space, checking behind the equipment and dodging playing children.

“Christopher, where are you?” I called out loudly.

Panic moved in, but it dissolved immediately the second I spotted my son playing in the sandbox beneath the slide. I moved up behind him, listening as he talked to no one. It was kind of cute.

I moved closer, ready to tap his shoulder and playfully pull him into my arms, but I stopped when I heard exactly what it was he was saying. My heart slammed against my ribs. Surely, I was hearing him wrong. He was only three. Three years olds didn’t think like that.

“No,” Christopher said adamantly. “I don’t want to hurt Mommy. It’s my job to protect her.”