I kissed Leo’s head.
“It always was.”
On Leo’s first birthday, sunlight poured through the nursery windows.
Blue balloons floated against the ceiling.
A small cake sat on the kitchen table, mostly frosting because Sophia said first birthdays were for pictures, not nutrition.
Naomi came.
Captain Ruiz came.
Detective Harris came off duty and brought a stuffed police dog that Leo immediately tried to chew.
Sophia’s father cried when Leo smeared cake across his own forehead.
I stood in the doorway watching my wife smile without checking the hallway first.
That was the ninth payoff.
Not revenge.
Not prison.
Not money.
That smile.
Late that afternoon, after everyone left, Sophia took Leo upstairs for a nap.
I stayed in the kitchen with a trash bag, collecting paper plates and torn wrapping paper.
My phone buzzed.
Naomi.
I answered.
“Please tell me nobody is appealing anything today.”
