The moment Jennifer closes the door behind her, half of my soul dies.
My knees buckle beneath me, the weight of her absence sinking deep into my bones. Slowly, as if all my strength has leaked out of my body, I sink to the floor.
I press the right side of my face against the cool tiles, curling in on myself, knees drawn to my chest—fetal, fragile, fucking hollow.
If only I could cry, maybe the pressure in my chest wouldn't feel like it's crushing me from the inside out.
But I can't cry.
This pain—it's not like anything I've ever felt before.
It's not the searing agony of a bullet wound, not the sharp sting of a blade slicing through flesh, not even the brutal force of a fist breaking bone.
This is something worse.
Something I can't even categorize as pain.
It's emptiness.
A void so vast, so all-consuming, I don't know if I'll ever fill it again.
Jennifer doesn't want me in their lives.
Because I'm an assassin.
But I'm also the father of her child.
And she's not even giving me a chance to be there—for them.
For my own child.
That's because she doesn't want your child to be a monster like you, a voice whispers in my head.
I squeeze my eyes shut. I know.
The second she explained her reason, I understood.
It wasn't like I hadn't already thought about walking away from this life.
But then—the memory comes.
The torment. The agony. The unbearable, inescapable suffering.
It was so much worse than I ever let on.
What I told you in chapter two? That was nothing.
The stiffness, the soreness, the way my muscles locked up so tight I thought my body was turning to stone. The pricking pain that never stopped, like thousands of needles buried just beneath my skin. My organs twisting, convulsing, making me nauseous, making it impossible to think, to function.
And that was just the surface.
There was so much more.
So much worse.
I feel a tremor rack through my body, even now—just remembering.
Cold sweat beads along my skin, chilling me to my core.
My entire body rejects the idea of going through that again.
But then—another part of me fights back.
My heart. My soul. Whatever the hell is left of my humanity.
Jennifer is gone.
And this time, she's taking my child with her.
How the fuck could I just let that happen?
Because I was afraid?
Because I was a coward?
What kind of man lets his fear outweigh his family?
The war inside me rages on.
Every time I lean towards logic, my emotions claw at me—showing me the future.
A life spent in the shadows.
Another kill. Another mission. Another empty fucking home.
A life without them.
And that thought? That thought alone is just as painful as the torment waiting for me if I try to leave this life behind.
I can't win.
No matter which choice I make—I lose.
--
I slowly open my eyes, condemning myself for still being alive. The torment from both my mind and my emotions must have finally knocked me unconscious. When I push myself up into a sitting position, I notice the dampness on the floor where my body had been. A mix of cold sweat and tears.
Yes. I finally cried before I passed out.
Lifelessly, I pull on my clothes. I wouldn't even call it getting dressed—I don't bother to wash my face, comb my hair, or tuck in my shirt. I just throw on whatever is closest and leave.
When I reach the basement, I only then remember—my ride isn't here. I stare at the empty space for a long second before the memory of last night hits me.
Right.
With a sigh, I turn back to the ground floor and call a taxi.
I sit on the steps in front of the building while I wait. Joe, the front-door man on duty this morning, greets me, but I only manage a thin, wry smile in return. He wisely doesn't try to make conversation.
Across the street, a small crowd has gathered near a school bus stop. It's almost 2 PM—probably parents waiting for their kids to get home from school.
A yellow bus pulls up moments later, and after a few minutes, it drives off, leaving behind a scene I can't look away from.
Children throwing themselves into their parents' arms.
Tiny arms clutching necks, laughter filling the air. Some kids swing their hands excitedly while walking away. A few dads even lift their kids onto their shoulders, carrying them home like they're the most precious thing in the world.
A bitter taste fills my mouth.
I could be them.
The thought tightens in my chest, but I swallow it down as my taxi pulls up. I force myself to stand and slide into the back seat, nodding at the driver when he confirms my address. Then, I stare blankly out the window, lost in thought.
"Yes…" The driver's voice pulls me back to reality. I glance at him and realize he's on a call, speaking through a hands-free headset.
"Hello, Baby… Daddy's driving now, Baby. Yes… Of course, I remember your ballet recital. Daddy would never forget. Okay, see you soon, sweetheart. 4 PM? Yes, third floor of the studio. See? I told you I'd remember. Okay. Love you, sweetie."
When he ends the call, he glances at me in the mirror. "Sorry, sir. My daughter—she freaks out if I don't pick up."
"It's okay," I murmur.
I'm about to sink back into silence when he continues, "She's only six, but she's more protective than her mom was."
"Was?" I catch the past tense immediately.
The driver nods. "Her mother passed away. Car accident."
"I'm sorry."
He sighs. "It's okay. That was four years ago. Maybe it was Heaven doing me a favor. If she hadn't died, maybe I would've, from an overdose or something." He chuckles dryly.
I glance at the dashboard, where a small picture is taped—a little girl with bright eyes and a radiant smile.
"Is that her?" I ask.
His face softens instantly. "Yes. Isn't she beautiful?"
I nod. It wouldn't be wise for a grown man to comment on another man's daughter, but she is.
"She's my hero," he says.
I don't need to look at his face to hear the pride in his voice.
"How's that?" I ask.
He exhales, shifting his grip on the wheel. "Her mom and I were separated. When she found out she was pregnant, she left me—I was a junkie. She didn't want me around our kid."
I stiffen slightly at the words. So similar to Jen…
"When she died, I was still using. Social services wouldn't let me take care of my daughter. She had no other family, but that didn't matter. They took her to a foster home. She cried and begged me to take her with me. Even though I was high as hell at the time, I knew—I couldn't lose her. That thought gave me enough strength to decide, right then and there, to get clean."
He pauses as if replaying the memory in his head.
"I've been a junkie since I was a teenager," he continues. "Quitting wasn't easy. I fell so many times. But I kept trying. And eventually, I did it. Two years clean."
I stare at him. "Was it hard?"
He lets out a dry laugh. "You definitely never used, sir. It was hell. Your brain begs you to use again. And when you refuse, it punishes you. Pain. So much pain, you can't even bear it."
He reaches out and touches his daughter's picture.
"But because of her… I made it. She's all I have. I need to be there for her. Every little thing she does gives me the strength to keep going."
"Was it worth it?"
He meets my gaze in the rearview mirror. "More than worth it. She's my flesh and blood. She's the best part of me and her mom. I'll make sure she has the best life possible. I'd sacrifice anything for her—even my worst addiction. It was the best decision I ever made."
I feel something shift inside me.
Before I even register it, the taxi stops.
"We're here, sir."
I hesitate.
"Can you drive me somewhere else?"
He nods. "Sure."
-
"Scott!"
Jennifer's voice jerks me back to reality.
She's staring at me, eyes wide in shock. I deliberately slow my breathing, pulling myself out of human-jet mode and back to normal speed before opening my eyes.
She stands in front of me while I remain seated, cross-legged in front of her apartment door.
"What are you doing here?" she asks, her voice careful.
I push myself up to stand.
"I quit."
Her brow furrows. "Quit?"
"Being an assassin."
She stares at me. "What?"
"I won't take orders to kill anymore. I won't be that monster. I won't kill—unless it's to protect you and our child." I exhale sharply. "Please… just…"
She steps closer, placing her hands on my shoulders.
"Scott…"
"Just let me be in my child's life," I whisper. "I don't care if you don't love me anymore. I don't care if you don't want to be with me. Maybe you already—"
"No!" she interrupts, shaking her head violently. "It's not like that. There… there is no other man."
Her hands move to cup my face, trembling.
"But you said…" she chokes, "stopping would kill you. The pain—"
I grab her hands, pressing them to my face.
"I'll bear it."
Her eyes fill with tears.
"I'll take the pain," I swear. "I'll fight it. Even if it kills me, I won't regret it. Not if it means I get to be here. To watch my child grow."
Her breath shudders. "Scott…"
"I will do anything to be in my child's life. Please."
She breaks down, sobbing into my chest.
"Jen… please… tell me what else I have to do."
She shakes her head.
"Nothing… nothing else… just… the assassin…" she gasps.
"Then from this moment," I whisper, pressing my forehead to hers, "I am not an assassin."
A breathless, teary chuckle escapes her lips.
"Do you want me to sign something?" I ask, half-smiling.
She shakes her head furiously. Then, suddenly—
She throws herself into my arms.
"I love you, Scott Bennet."
And just like that—
The emptiness inside me is gone.