Chapter 2
Grant came out of the shower toweling his hair, his phone still facedown beside the champagne bucket.
I picked up my glass before he could see my hands shaking.
"To us," he said, pouring the champagne.
I held his gaze and lifted mine.
"To us."
He told me the mayor had invited him to speak at the fire department's charity breakfast. He complained about the weight of his dress uniform, then reached across the table and brushed his thumb over my knuckles.
"I know tonight wasn't perfect," he said. "But I'm taking you away next month. No calls, no rescues, no interruptions. Just you and me."
For three years, that promise would have softened me.
Now I could see it for what it was: something easy to say because he never intended to keep it.
His phone vibrated beside his plate.
The screen lit up with Lila's name.
Grant saw it at the same time I did. His expression changed so quickly that, before yesterday, I might have missed it.
He turned the phone facedown.
"Everything okay?" I asked.
"Probably a station message."
The phone vibrated again.
Then a third time.
Grant stood so abruptly that his chair scraped across the floor.
"I need to take this," he said.
He stepped onto the back terrace, but the glass doors did not fully close. I could hear only pieces of his voice.
"No, she shouldn't be alone if she's that scared."
A pause.
"I'm coming. Tell her Daddy is on his way."
My fingers tightened around the stem of my champagne glass.
When he returned, his expression had settled into practiced concern.
"Captain needs me to help with the collision review," he said. "It's about Wren's case. I'll be back soon."
He did not mention Lila.
He did not mention the frightened child waiting for him in another apartment.
He bent to kiss my forehead.
"Don't wait up, baby."
I looked at the untouched anniversary dessert between us.
"Of course," I said. "Go help."
Relief crossed his face. He believed I was still the woman who would make his lies comfortable.
After the front door closed, I sat alone at the dining table until the champagne lost its bubbles.
At 12:47 a.m., Grant texted me.
Still at the station. It may be a while. I love you.
After Grant left, I searched Lila Caldwell's name.
Her public profile appeared first—the same woman smiling beside Grant in the photographs on his phone.
Three minutes later, Lila posted a photograph to her public account.
Wren was asleep beneath a pink blanket on a sofa. Grant sat beside her in a firefighter T-shirt, one hand resting protectively over the edge of the blanket. A children's movie played silently on the television behind them.
The caption read:
Some heroes do not leave after the sirens fade.
I saved the photograph.
I saved Grant's text.
Then I opened my calendar.
I scrolled through the older posts.
Wren's school was holding its annual charity sports day the next afternoon. For the past week, Lila had been posting countdowns, each one ending with the same promise:
Daddy will be there.
I saved the address and set an alarm for noon.
At one o'clock, Wren Caldwell would run a race.
I wanted to see whose arms she ran into at the finish line.