Page 69
“Can’t you just get one of those all-in-one plastic things?” she grumped, leaning against the wall, watching him set a golf ball down and release it. It rolled, slow and deliberate, tracing the fall of the base until he was satisfied with the angle.
“Do you see any plastic in this bathroom?” He insisted on porcelain. Solid, weighty, built to last.
“No.”
“Then we’re not starting now.”
She dragged a hand across the back of her neck. “It’s a shower, Ronan. It just needs to drain.”
Tiling tested her patience.
“You’re rushing.”
“I’m not—” She stopped, studied the laser level line cutting clean across the wall, then shifted the tile a fraction. “Fine. Maybe I am.”
His shoulder brushed hers as he reached past for another spacer.
And finally, the day came when they wiped away the last bit of grout and smoothed the silicone along the edges, neat and watertight.
“We did it,” she whispered, wonder threading her voice.
Standing in the doorway, a deep sense of accomplishment settled through her. Sunlight poured in through the unadorned window, catching on the glass of the shower, bright and clean.
The twin basins sat solid and symmetrical. Above them, the mirror stretched wide, reflecting light back into the room. All it needed was a couple of kids — one on a step to reach the tap — elbows knocking, voices overlapping in the morning rush.
The image came too easily. And it stung.
A quiet reminder that she’d help build this — measured it, cut it, set it straight — but it would never be hers.
Some of the satisfaction slipped, thinning at the edges, leaving something sharper in its wake.
Regret.
Followed closely by longing.
A quiet, persistent, unwelcome yearning for a life that never would be hers.
Never would she put a man, more, a defenseless child, in a position where they could be harmed.
She had seen too much. Knew too well how quickly safety could be stripped away, how easily ordinary lives became collateral.
Even if it meant standing in a doorway she helped create, looking in on something warm and whole. And knowing she would always remain on the outside of it.
Just to reinforce that knowledge, she spent extra time behind her laptop and screens that night, going through the day’s footage from her hidden cameras.
Footage that, if discovered, would earn her a felony without question.
Her filtering program flagged what mattered.
New faces in town. Anomalies in routine. Anything, anyone unfamiliar.
She was spying on people.
Because her sister had once believed it was safe — to fall in love, to marry.
To take a risk.
Until that false sense of safety had been ripped away, forcing her to abandon everything and run.
