I filled a glass with water and drank it slowly, trying to calm the tightness in my chest.

I thought about the baby.

In a few months, she would be born into a world where her father was a ghost in a federal penitentiary.

But she would be safe.

She would never have to hear the sound of gunfire or see the blood on her mother’s coat.

I walked into the dark living room and sat on the edge of the sofa.

The radiator clanked, sending a hiss of steam into the cold air.

Suddenly, the floorboards in the hallway creaked.

It was a soft, distinct sound, different from the settling of the old house.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat.

The shadow under the front door darkened as the porch light outside went out.

Then, my phone on the kitchen counter began to glow, its screen lighting up the dark room with an incoming call.

The phone on the kitchen counter continued to vibrate.

Its pale blue screen cast a cold light across the linoleum floor.