“I don’t know.” I dig the heels of my palms into my eyes. “I definitely never wanted you to have a life even a tiny bit similar to hers, but I don’t know more.” I get up and look at her teary face. “I hope you understand now and will sign the papers.” Then I walk to the door.

“Do you love me, Lukas?” she asks, and my steps come to a halt.

“Did you not hear what I said?” Why the fuck is she even asking me this?

“I heard everything, and I’m sorry, really sorry, for everything you went through as a child. I’m so sorry that your mom had such a shitty experience with love. And I’m so proud of you and the journey you’ve walked to become the person you are.”

Before her soft words can melt my resolve, I say, “Every journey leaves its mark, Autumn, and mine run deep.”

“I love you exactly as you are, with all the marks and all the wounds.”

She’s again said the word love and twisted my insides, filling them with false hope.

“I can never run away from my past. There’s no place in this world where I can go and get rid of that man’s blood flowing through my veins. And I’ll die in shame knowing I somehow ruined you by tying you with him.”

That’s the last thing I say before leaving her in the room that has been witness to my happiest days.

41. Lukas

41

LUKAS

From: autumnthefallqueen

To: lukasspencer

Hi, Lukas,

I think you’ll appreciate the images.

~ Autumn

P.S. It’s a newborn in our local zoo. We had a big celebration in the town’s square.

I open the attachment and snort, remembering that when I first read this email three years ago, Keith was explaining something about our newest case. In the photo, she’s standing outside the glass chamber next to a white newborn harp seal. There’s a blue flag in her hand that reads I’M A SEAL.

Connor rolls his wheelchair into my office. “What are you doing here so late?”

I minimize the old email. “I could ask the same question,” I grunt, because that’s my usual voice these days.

He stops next to my desk and hovers over my computer screen. “So you’re running?” He tilts his head toward the open website of cabin rentals in a deserted village in Sweden.

“I’m not running. I’m booking a vacation. Can’t a man have that?”

“I see,” he replies slowly. I don’t think he sees anything. He’s deliberately trying to be patronizing. “You can have all the vacations you like. In fact, I’d say you’ve earned a long vacation.”