His jaw clenched when he saw the paper. It was him in a hat—if he squinted hard—but even with her childish scribbles of a drawing, he could see that there was a dark-haired woman at his side in a pink dress and a tiny girl next to them. “Good job.”

“It’s me and Miss Becca and you,” she told him proudly, holding it out. “I want to put it on the wall with my other pictures at Miss Becca’s job.”

He could feel his nostrils flaring, his temper about to snap, and Libby wasn’t at fault. “We’ll do that later,” he promised her, keeping his voice even, and took the picture and put it on the fridge, under a magnet. When he turned around, his daughter frowned at him.

“Miss Becca won’t see it there.”

“We’ll show her later. Go play in the living room.” Anything to distract her. For days, she’d been asking about “Miss Becca” and when they were going to go over and have pancakes. When they were going to have another Daddy-and-Becca sleepover. When they were going to watch a movie with her again. She asked about Becca constantly, and he didn’t have the heart to tell her that Becca wasn’t going to be in their life anymore. Hell, just thinking about it gutted him as it was.

How could one tiny woman change his life so damn much? Life was supposed to be simple. He knew what he wanted. He knew how to get there. Now he felt like he didn’t know anything and it was making him crazy. He was starting to feel like a crazy man. Scratching at his beard, he watched his daughter hop out of her chair and bound into the living room.

“You okay?” Caleb asked. “You’re not yourself. You almost snapped at her for drawing a picture.”

He knew, and he was ashamed. Libby didn’t deserve for him to lash out at her. He’d do his best to keep his frustration on lockdown, because she didn’t need to know that he was dying inside. “I’m miserable, thanks for asking.”

Caleb just grunted, ever quiet. “Not too late to change your mind, you know.”

“About?” He practically snarled the word.

“Alaska.”

Alaska. What would he do if he didn’t go to Alaska?