Page 100 of Waste of Worth

How hard he was failing, he realized sadly.

Dino couldn’t think on that realization for long, instead he went about writing Karen’s address on the bubble mailer with a black marker, making sure her details were clear, bold, and couldn’t be somehow screwed up when it went into the mail. On the return address section, he hesitated.

But only for a second.

In big, bold letters, Dino wrote, DO NOT RETURN TO SENDER.

He didn’t want the money coming back to him. He didn’t need it, Karen would. He hoped the one sentence would be enough for her to get his hint, take the money, and do what she needed with it, but he didn’t know if it would be.

The woman was fucking stubborn.

He loved her for it, sure, but she could be difficult.

This was something he nor she could be difficult about. Karen would need a backup plan, even if she wouldn’t fully understand why, and Dino needed to make sure she and his unborn child would be taken care of.

Deep in his heart, burrowing into his black soul, that need was taking hold.

It was far greater than even his need to make sure he was okay, that he came out unscathed in all of this.

She came first now.

His child would come first.

He had to make sure of that.

Ripping out a piece of paper from a notepad, Dino scribbled a few sentences, not taking much time to think about what he could or should say to Karen, but rather, the first things that came to his mind. Things that were important—things that would keep her safe.

Things that he needed her to know.

I’m sorry. Please use this, even if you don’t want to. Know that I love you. Stay away.

Then, he hesitated on the last sentence he knew he absolutely needed to write—something he had to tell Karen, but knew how it would come across without an explanation to follow it, or for that matter, without him telling her why he was asking it of her.

Don’t give the child my names.—Dino.

His hand had slipped on that final sentence, the trembling making his letters appear more haphazard than his writing usually was. His heart beat painfully hard in his chest as he took in the words again and again, rereading them to himself until his eyes hurt and his vision blurred. He hadn’t realized how absolutely aching it would be to write those words, to know he had to mean them, and to know what it would mean and feel like to Karen when she was the one reading them.

Keep them safe, he kept telling himself.

It was starting to feel like a mantra.

He almost grabbed another paper and rewrote his short letter, wanting to take that last sentence out, wanting to tie himself and his legacy to a child not yet born. But he couldn’t.

So he didn’t.

Dino didn’t let himself stare at the letter for too long lest he go back and change what he knew was best for Karen, instead he folded the paper into a small square and shoved it into the bubble mailer, too. Quickly but carefully, he sealed the package, grabbed the stack of prepaid mailing stickers, and stuck as many onto the package as he could. It was probably too many, but at least then it wouldn’t get lost to the system for having too little.

It was only then that Dino realized his entire office was filled with a hazy cloud of smoke, lingering midway in the room like a heavy blanket waiting to fall. For a long moment, he stared at the haze, hoping he had done enough to at least save himself a life sentence.

A year, he could handle.

A few years would put him back a lot, but it was still manageable.

A life sentence was a death warrant.

Dino didn’t know how much time he had left, if any at all, so he didn’t bother to start going through his filing cabinets to destroy what was in them, too. Instead, he headed back out of his apartment, making his way down to the end of the hall where he knew he could finish at least one thing that was far more important than the rest—without problem or the officials finding out he had done so.

The evidence in his apartment that he had destroyed would be obvious.