Awa Carpenter always believed her life would be like one of those happily-ever-after stories. She was naive enough to think love was all they needed, that as long as they had each other, everything would fall into place. At sixteen, when she first fell for Drake Dickinson, she could hardly see beyond the glow of their youthful romance. He was her high school sweetheart, the boy with the confident grin and easy laugh who made her feel like the only girl in the world. When she got pregnant with Beatrice at seventeen, Drake was right there, promising her that they could handle it, that they'd build a life together. And for a while, it felt like they did.

They married right out of high school, young and full of hope. Drake had always dreamed of becoming a cop, and when he joined the force, Awa felt a quiet pride. She stayed home with Beatrice, watching her daughter grow, imagining the kind of future they would have as a family. In those early years, their love seemed invincible. They laughed often, they talked late into the night, and Drake always made her feel safe, like he was the solid foundation beneath her feet.

But things changed, slowly at first, like cracks in the foundation you couldn't quite see but could feel beneath your feet. Drake's late nights became more frequent. His explanations, once so reassuring, became vague. He'd come home smelling of cigarette smoke and cheap cologne, his eyes bloodshot and distant. When she asked where he'd been, his answers were short, curt, like she was prying into something she had no right to know.

"Just work stuff, Awa," he would say, slamming his badge and gun down on the kitchen counter before retreating to the shower. His words were clipped, the warmth that once filled their home now chilling the air.

Awa wanted to believe him. She needed to believe him. But the late nights turned into entire weekends without explanation, and suddenly, their small apartment was filled with things they couldn't afford—expensive clothes, watches, even a new car. At first, she tried to rationalize it. Maybe Drake was working overtime, maybe he'd gotten a raise she didn't know about. But deep down, she knew. His cop's salary couldn't pay for all of this.

One night, when Drake came home late again, Awa was waiting for him, her arms crossed and her face pale with exhaustion.

"Where have you been?" she asked, her voice shaking with the question she'd been too scared to ask for months.

Drake didn't look at her. He tossed his keys on the table and kicked off his shoes, his face hard and unreadable. "Out," he replied.

"Out where, Drake? This isn't normal! You've been coming home late every night, and now this?" She gestured to the designer watch gleaming on his wrist. "How are we paying for this? Where is all this money coming from?"

Drake's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. "I told you, Awa. I've been working extra hours, picking up some side jobs. Why do you always have to make a big deal out of everything?"

"A big deal?" Awa's voice cracked, her frustration spilling over. "You're coming home at all hours of the night, throwing money around like it's nothing, and you expect me not to ask questions? We have a daughter, Drake. We're supposed to be a family!"

Drake's face darkened, his eyes flashing with anger. "I'm doing this for us! For Beatrice! You think I like being stuck in this shitty apartment, barely scraping by? I'm trying to give us a better life, Awa. You just don't get it."

Awa shook her head, her throat tight with the words she couldn't say. "I don't care about the money. I just want my husband back. I want Beatrice to have her father back."

Drake didn't answer. He turned his back to her, his silence louder than any argument they'd had before. Awa felt the tears welling up in her eyes, but she refused to cry in front of him. Not again.

That night, as she lay in bed, Beatrice curled up beside her, Awa stared at the ceiling, her heart aching in her chest. The man she loved, the father of her child, was slipping away from her, and she didn't know how to stop it. 

Weeks passed, and things only got worse. Drake's absences became more frequent, and when he was home, he was distant, barely acknowledging Awa or Beatrice. He always had an excuse—work, meetings, things she wouldn't understand. Awa's attempts to reach him were met with cold indifference, her once-loving husband now a stranger. And the money—it kept coming. Bags of cash hidden in their closet, new clothes, new toys for Beatrice. But Awa couldn't enjoy any of it. She knew something was wrong.

One night, after another fruitless argument with Drake, Awa sat at the kitchen table, her head in her hands. She didn't know what to do anymore. She'd tried talking to him, begging him to tell her the truth, but he just shut her out. The man she'd loved so deeply, who had promised her forever, was slipping through her fingers like sand.

"Mommy?"

Awa looked up, startled, to see Beatrice standing in the doorway, clutching her stuffed bunny. Her big, innocent eyes were filled with confusion.

"Why are you crying, Mommy?" Beatrice asked softly, her voice trembling.

Awa quickly wiped her tears away, forcing a smile. "I'm not crying, baby. I'm okay."

But she wasn't okay. She was falling apart.

The next day, Awa decided she couldn't sit by and wait any longer. She needed answers. She couldn't live in this limbo of fear and doubt, not knowing where Drake was or what he was involved in. She started calling his colleagues, asking if they'd seen him, if they knew what was going on.

At first, the answers were vague. They said Drake was busy, handling some "important cases." But Awa wasn't convinced. She pushed harder, calling more people, trying to piece together the puzzle of her husband's double life.

The rumors started to surface. People whispered about Drake's involvement with drugs, with dirty deals happening behind closed doors. It didn't seem real. This was the man who had once held her hand and promised her the world. This was the man she had built her life around. How could he have fallen so far?

Awa's heart pounded as she made her way to the station, desperate for confirmation, hoping—*praying*—that the rumors were just that. Rumors. But deep down, she knew. Something was terribly wrong.

She stormed into the station, her hands trembling as she approached one of Drake's colleagues. Officer Langston, a grizzled veteran of the force, looked at her with pity in his eyes as she approached. He knew. Everyone knew.

"Mrs. Carpenter," he said quietly, taking her aside. "You shouldn't be here."

"Tell me the truth," Awa demanded, her voice shaking. "Where is Drake? What is he doing? I know he's not working these extra hours. I know something's going on. Just *tell* me."

Langston sighed, running a hand through his graying hair. "Awa… I can't tell you much. But… you need to prepare yourself. Drake's been involved in some things. Things that could get him into serious trouble."

"What kind of things?" Awa asked, her chest tightening with fear.

"Drugs. Deals with some bad people. He's been under investigation for a while now, but… it's complicated. I wish I could say more."

Awa's knees felt weak, her world spinning as the reality of Drake's betrayal hit her full force. Drugs. Her husband—*the father of her child*—was involved in drugs. The man she had built her life around was a criminal.

She turned and stumbled out of the station, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. This couldn't be happening. Not Drake. Not *her* Drake. The boy who had kissed her under the bleachers after football practice, the man who had held her hand when Beatrice was born. How had it come to this?

Days passed in a blur, Awa's mind racing as she tried to make sense of everything. She could barely sleep, her thoughts consumed by the betrayal, by the lies. Drake hadn't been home in days, and every time she called, it went straight to voicemail.

And then, one night, the call came.

Awa was in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner, when her phone rang. She didn't recognize the number, but her heart sank. Something inside her knew this was it.

"Mrs. Carpenter?" The voice on the other end was cold, detached.

"Yes, this is me," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

"This is Officer Daniels. There's been… an incident involving your husband."

Awa's breath caught in her throat. "What do you mean? What happened?"

"I'm sorry to inform you that Drake Dickinson was shot earlier this evening. He didn't make it."

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. For a moment, she couldn't breathe, couldn't think. "No," she whispered, shaking her head. "No, that's not possible. There must be some mistake."

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I wish there were."

Awa's hand shook so violently that she dropped the phone, the sound of it hitting the floor barely registering in her ears. Her mind screamed, but no words came. Drake was dead. He was *dead.*

The drive to the scene felt like a nightmare. Awa's hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white, her heart pounding in her chest as she sped through the city. She could hear Beatrice's cries echoing in her mind, her little girl's voice asking, "Where's Daddy?" over and over again.

When she arrived, the flashing lights of police cars and ambulances cast an eerie glow on the street. A crowd had gathered, but Awa barely noticed them. Her eyes were locked on the scene ahead.

There, lying on the pavement, was Drake.

Her legs gave out beneath her, and she stumbled forward, pushing past the officers who tried to stop her. She didn't hear their words, didn't see their sympathetic faces. All she could see was Drake, his body motionless, his blood pooling around him like a grotesque halo.

"No," she whispered, falling to her knees beside him. "No, no, no…"

Her hands shook as she reached out to touch him, her fingers brushing his cold skin. His eyes were open, staring up at the sky, but they were empty, devoid of the warmth and life that had once filled them. A sob tore from her throat, and she clutched the front of his bloodstained shirt, her tears falling onto his lifeless body.

This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening.

She had lost him.

Not just the man lying dead on the pavement in front of her, but the man he used to be. The boy who had held her close and promised her a future. The man who had been her husband, the father of her child. That man was long gone, replaced by this stranger who had died in a world she didn't recognize.

Awa's sobs grew louder, her body trembling with the weight of her grief. But she wasn't crying for Drake.

Not anymore.

She was crying for Beatrice. For the little girl who had lost her father in the worst way possible. For the life they could have had, the life that was now shattered beyond repair.

As she knelt there, her tears soaking into Drake's shirt, Awa felt a wave of anger rise within her. Anger at him for leaving her. Anger at him for choosing this life, for dragging her and Beatrice into it. And most of all, anger at herself—for not seeing it sooner, for not doing something to stop it.

But it was too late.

Drake was gone, and now, Awa was left to pick up the pieces of the life he had destroyed.

The world around her blurred as Awa's sobs filled the air. She could hear the whispers of the officers, the murmurs of the crowd, but they felt distant, like they were happening in another world. Her world had stopped, frozen in this moment of unbearable loss.

Drake was gone, and nothing would ever be the same again.