“So what? Most people hate their jobs. That’s why it’s called work.”

“Most people aren’t committing murder,” Ryan said pointedly, and it took everything in Kristy’s mind not to lose her temper completely.

Kristy’s job as a public information officer for the Texas Department of Criminal Justice required that she serve as mediator between inmates, the press, and the prison system. Despite the challenges and the pressures, it also required that she act as a witness during executions.

Her job had always been hard on Ryan. She’d done her best to explain to him how the justice system in Texas worked: There were rules, and the men and women on death row had broken those rules in the worst possible way and they deserved to be punished. But Ryan had a tender heart and a curious nature. The older he got, the more he hated watching his mom stand up in front of TV cameras and talk about executions as if they were commonplace, like they weren’t something that the rest of the world considered barbaric. Kristy had spent years listening to her son’s passionate arguments. She’d assumed that it was just a phase, until last year when, eyeing the crowd on her walk to the death house chamber before an execution, she spotted him. There was her son in a crowd of protesters. She’d gasped, staring at him as he proudly waved a sign that read EXECUTE JUSTICE. NOT PEOPLE. Kristy wanted to rush over and tell Ryan to get his butt home, but she couldn’t. She still had a job to do.

Quietly seething at her son’s disobedience, she sat through the execution of Mitchell Hastings, a thirty-year-old drifter convicted of murdering his sister and her best friend, while Ryan stood outside the prison gates chanting, “No justice. No peace.”

Deep down, Kristy was proud of Ryan for being so strong in his convictions. But if any of the reporters had caught wind that Kristy’s own son was anti–death penalty, it would have been a PR nightmare. She could have lost her job. On the drive home that evening, Kristy told Ryan he was allowed to have an opinion, but this type of behavior wasn’t acceptable. This was her livelihood. It was what kept the roof over their heads and food on the table. Ryan respected that but he wanted Kristy to look for a new job. Even now, months later, he’d e-mail her job postings, with subject headings like New Jobs. No Killing Involved. But she simply wasn’t going to indulge him today.

“You’re going to be late,” Kristy said. For once, Ryan didn’t push back.

“All right, Mama Bear, I’ll see ya later,” he said, grabbing his backpack.

“Love you, Ry.”