It would have kept Jax out, too, but he pleaded guilty. The judge gave him sixty-four months, but Sam says he’ll be out a lot sooner. Especially now that he’s found religion, though he doesn’t call it that and he never mentions the word God. Jax preaches in his podcasts, The Path from Prison, that every being is divine and that nature is our church. He talks about other things, too, stuff like astral projection and moral diversity. I have no idea what half of it means, but I listen to him anyway. I like the idea he’s pushing, of people being basically good, that we make mistakes, but ultimately, everybody’s in charge of their own destinies.

Just like I am with mine. Twenty-six and pregnant, on the verge of divorce but still standing. Studying for my GED and then, hopefully, college. It won’t be easy with a baby, but Chet will help, and so will Paul. Between the three of us, we’ll figure out a way.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he says, returning with the papers.

“No, I can’t stay. I promised Chet I’d help him out at the food truck.”

Lake Crosby’s first of its kind. We park it every day at the edge of town, where Chet cooks and I serve until we sell out, usually by three o’clock every afternoon. Oh, the irony of us being back where we began—in a tiny metal trailer—but now we own it and it’s chock-full of food.

Paul holds out the papers, but when I try to take them, he doesn’t let go. “I really loved you, you know. Not the way I should have. Not the way you deserved. And I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry for not letting you in the way you deserved to be. I’m sorry for hurting you.”

He pauses, and I believe him this time. I’m certain this apology is sincere.

“But I am not sorry for falling in love with you. I’m not sorry for our time together, because those months were the happiest I’ve been in a very long time.” He smiles, and it’s the saddest thing I’ve ever seen.

“They were happy for me, too.”

It’s funny when you think about it, and I’ve thought about it a lot, but I fell in love with Paul not despite his flaws, but because of them. The way they made me feel less alone, the way they fit up snug against mine.

But now that I’ve put a little space between us, I can see his scars weren’t so much a complement but a camouflage. I’d found someone whose wounds overshadowed mine, and he came with a pretty house and a pile full of money. Of course I fell in love with him.