He had always tried to protect us, too.

He had worked the long, grueling shifts at the south docks, coming home with grease on his hands and salt in his hair.

He had promised me we would buy a small house away from the city.

Then came the night of the tugboat accident, the call from the harbor master, and the cold reality of being left entirely alone.

I pulled my knees to my chest, listening to the storm outside.

Two hours passed in silence.

The wind did not let up, throwing sheets of icy rain against the glass.

Just past midnight, the lock on the suite door turned.

I stood up quickly, my body tense.

Julian walked in.

He had discarded his suit jacket, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing dark ink tattooed on his forearms.

He looked tired, the shadows under his eyes deeper than before.

In his hand, he held a thick manila folder.

“Is she still sleeping?” he asked, his voice low.

“Yes,” I said. “Did Vanessa leave?”