The rain had settled into a steady drizzle, the kind that seeped into clothes and skin without making a sound. On a narrow, stony road beside the woods, a beige sedan rolled to a stop.
A man stepped out, pulling his collar up against the damp. His beige coat was already darkened at the shoulders where the rain had soaked in. He glanced down the empty road, the dim glow of his car's tail lights the only break in the darkness.
Then—a sudden flicker of headlights behind him. Tires hissed over wet stones, followed by the sharp screech of brakes.
A sleek black coupe stopped just a few yards away. The driver's door opened, and a curvy woman stepped out, the overhead light of her car glinting against the slick surface of her black dress. It clung to her figure like poured ink, and the sharp click of her black high heels cut through the hush of the rain. In one hand, she carried a leather suitcase.
The man took a few steps forward, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Whoaa, whoaa… it's the Italian bomba herself—Isabella Conte." He took her free hand and pressed a light kiss to it.
Her red lips curved faintly. "Detective," she said in a rich Italian accent, "thank you for your cooperation. You saved us from big trouble. Our top men could have been killed… or captured, if not for your tip."
She tilted her head slightly, her eyes never leaving his. "And I also acknowledge the blunder that happened on our side. We should never have provided SMGs to the Camden Hillburn Mob."
His smile thinned. "Do you understand what calamity that brought on us? One or two troopers is one thing—but nine?"
"I understand your worry, Detective," she replied smoothly. "But do not concern yourself. Not a single hand will reach you. As acknowledgment of our mistake… this is double the amount we agreed upon."
She clicked open the suitcase, turning it toward him. Inside, neat stacks of cash gleamed under the pale headlights.
The man's eyes softened. "Thank you, Miss Conte. It's a pleasure doing business with you, as always. By the way…" He leaned back slightly, his tone teasing. "Don't you feel scared, coming alone this late… in the woods?"
She gave a low, throaty laugh, pulling a cigarette from a slim silver case. The flame of her lighter briefly illuminated her sharp cheekbones. She exhaled smoke slowly, eyes glinting. "Who would dare to lay a hand on Clive Blackwood's mistress?"
Her laugh lingered in the damp air as she slid back into her car. "Thank you, Detective Brown."
The black coupe's engine purred to life, headlights cutting through the rain as she pulled away, leaving him standing on the wet stony road—the suitcase still open in his hands.
The living room was dim, lit only by the weak yellow glow of a corner lamp. Rain tapped gently on the windows, the sound filling every space between the strained silence. The air felt thick, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath.
Tommy sat cross-legged on the carpet, fiddling with a small toy car. His brow was furrowed in the way only an eight-year-old's could be—half-concentration, half-confusion about the somber expressions around him.
Evelyn sat on the couch, elbows on her knees, hands clasped so tightly her knuckles were white. Beside her, her mother's hand rested lightly on her back, rubbing small, steady circles. Across from them, William Carter sat forward in an armchair, his jacket draped over the armrest. His eyes were fixed on Tommy, but he hadn't spoken yet.
Evelyn's father broke the silence first, his voice deep but trembling.
"Tommy, sweetheart… We need to talk to you about something important."
The boy looked up from his toy, sensing the heaviness in the room.
"Is it about Dad? Mom said he was in the hospital."
Evelyn swallowed hard. Her voice caught, but she forced herself to answer.
"Yes, baby. It's… it's about Dad." She reached out, motioning for him to come closer. "Can you sit here with me?"
Tommy stood slowly, the toy car still clutched in his hand, and climbed onto the couch beside her. Evelyn's arm wrapped around his small shoulders, pulling him close.
William shifted in his seat, his voice quiet and careful.
"Tommy… Your dad was hurt very badly yesterday. The doctors tried everything they could…"
Evelyn's eyes squeezed shut, and a tear rolled down her cheek.
"They couldn't save him," she whispered. "He's… gone, sweetheart."
Tommy blinked, his lips parting slightly.
"What do you mean, 'gone'?" His voice was high and uncertain. "Like… gone to another hospital?"
Evelyn's hand trembled as she brushed his hair back from his forehead.
"No, baby. He's not coming back. Your daddy… he died."
For a moment, the words didn't seem to land. Tommy stared at her, his young mind trying to piece it together. Then his small body stiffened, and his eyes filled with tears.
"No! No, you're lying! Daddy's strong—he's a trooper! He told me he'd come back!"
Evelyn's mother leaned forward, tears in her own eyes.
"Oh, honey… I wish it wasn't true."
Tommy shook his head violently, pulling away from Evelyn's arms.
"You didn't even go get him! You just let him—" His voice cracked, and he buried his face in his hands.
Evelyn's heart broke in her chest. She slid off the couch to kneel on the carpet in front of him, taking his hands gently.
"I was there, Tommy. I went to the hospital as fast as I could. I sat outside while they tried to save him. I wanted him to come home so badly… but he was hurt too much."
Her father's voice joined in, low and steady.
"Your dad was brave, son. He was doing his job—protecting people. And we're all so proud of him."
But Tommy's tears came harder.
"I don't care! I just want him back!"
William leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. His own voice was thick.
"I worked with your dad every day. He… he loved you more than anything, Tommy. You were all he talked about. Even on the hardest days."
Tommy looked at him through watery eyes.
"Then why'd he leave me?"
That question cut through the room like a blade. Evelyn's voice broke as she cupped his cheeks.
"He didn't leave you, baby. He was taken from us. If there was any way for him to stay, he would have. I promise you."
Tommy sniffled hard, his small hands gripping her wrists.
"Will I ever see him again?"
Evelyn's tears spilled freely now.
"Not in the way we want to. But… in memories, in the things he taught you, in the way you laugh just like him… he'll always be with you."
The boy's sobs quieted into hiccups, and he leaned into her, his face pressed to her shoulder. Evelyn held him tight, rocking him gently, whispering over and over, "I love you, I love you so much."
William stood, running a hand over his face before quietly excusing himself to give them space. Evelyn's parents stayed close, silent except for the occasional sniffle, their eyes never leaving mother and son.
The rain outside grew heavier, drumming against the glass, but inside, time seemed to still—just a mother holding her child, both of them clinging to what little they had left.
The house had gone quiet.
The kind of quiet that didn't feel peaceful but hollow.
Evelyn sat at the kitchen table, a mug of untouched tea cooling in her hands. Her parents had gone to bed in the guest room, and William had left an hour ago. The rain had slowed outside, now only an occasional patter on the roof.
She rubbed at her eyes, exhausted but unable to move. Every time she closed them, she saw Daniel—smiling in his uniform that last morning when he'd kissed her goodbye, his voice low so as not to wake Tommy.
From down the hall, she heard a faint sound. At first she thought it was the wind. But then it came again—soft, muffled words.
She stood, her bare feet silent against the wooden floor, and made her way toward Tommy's room.
The door was ajar, light from his small desk lamp spilling into the hallway. She peeked inside.
Tommy sat cross-legged on his bed, his little hands holding a framed photo of him and Daniel at the park—Daniel kneeling with his arm around him, both of them grinning at the camera.
Tommy's voice was quiet, almost a whisper.
"Dad… You said you'd come to my baseball game next week. I've been practicing… even the swing you showed me."
He paused, his thumb rubbing the glass over his father's face.
"I'll still play, okay? And… I'll hit a home run for you. I promise."
Evelyn pressed a hand to her mouth, her throat tightening so hard it hurt.
Tommy sniffled, blinking fast.
"Mom's crying a lot… So I'm going to try to be strong, like you. But… if you can… maybe you could… just watch me? From wherever you are?"
He leaned forward, kissing the photo.
"I love you, Dad. Goodnight."
Evelyn stepped back into the hallway before he could see her, leaning against the wall as tears streamed down her face. Her hands shook as she covered her mouth, stifling a sob.
That night, she didn't sleep at all. She stayed awake in her bed, staring at the ceiling, clutching Daniel's old sweatshirt to her chest, and listening to the rain start up again.