"So," Sam gently sets his dirty plate into the sink. Hot water runs over my pale hands, turning them red. "Your dad and Michael.. have they ever gotten along?"

I rinse one sudsy plate before reaching for another one which is covered in red pasta sauce.

"When we first met..." I start, my hands scrubbing at the plate while my mind drifts to the past. "My father had been working on a case." Violent images I was never supposed to see flash through my mind and I squeeze my eyes shut in an attempt to erase the images- so much blood. "A brutal murder of some dirty lawyer, his wife, and his daughter." Sam winces, lightly touching my arm to remind me that I'm roughly scrubbing a clean plate. "He crossed the Italian mafia, stole from them to be exact." A petty five hundred thousand dollars from one of the richest gangs in New York. "You know my father wasn't part of organized crime investigation, but they brought him in for his expertise on- Sam?" I immediately stop when I notice the sad and far off look in his icy blue eyes.

"Keep going." He tells me, looking down at the running water in the sink while clearing his throat. "My story after yours." I frown at his statement not understanding but continuing anyway. "Their leader, or boss, has a son... he's prince to the dark and bloody kingdom they've built." Sam finally looks at me, curiosity starting to spill in those pools of sadness. "And he looks exactly like the love of my life."

Sam swallows thickly, with a deep sigh. "And your father believes that Michael is part of the mafia?" Suddenly, I find myself laughing at his frown. As if my father would have ever agreed to letting me anywhere near Michael when he was part of the mafia. "No, Michael proved him self over and over again that he had nothing to do with the mafia, even before we met." And he truly had. He had been teaching in class when a murder happened. At the Dodgers game with a buddy when an arms deal went down. "My father was more worried about how people would see me if they didn't know Michael's story."

We fall into silence, the only sound being that the still running water. The soft sound of running water continues until all the dishes are cleaned. We then dry in silence, both of us lost in our thoughts. It's Sam who finally breaks it just as we start to put the dishes away in the cabinet.

"You know Maddie wrote for a living and how she died in New York?" I lightly nod my head, remembering back to when Sam first told me about his dead wife. She wanted to be a writer. For a living she wrote book reviews, but her dream was to write her own book.

"She wanted to write a crime romance." A pained laugh leaves his throat and bis hand shakes as he brings it to rest on the sink, tightly gripping the edge. "She was reading all about them- the Italians." He grits his teeth, hissing out a breath. "She told me she discovered something... something she thought could bring down real murders, not just the ones in her head." A sudden sob escapes his throat and my hand gently lifts to rub between his shoulders. "She asked me to go to New York with her to confirm her suspicion and I told her she was crazy. She died alone in New York because I was busy and she couldn't lose her lead, the lead that died with her."

The conversation ends there, the both of us lost in our own thoughts.

My father's hatred for Michael didn't last forever, I can remember the exact moment I watched it evaporate from his eyes. It was just a few hours after Michael had received the title of father. My husband was holding a newborn in each arm, promising to protect them from all the darkness he had seen in the world. My father stood in the doorway of our hospital room, watching with tears in his own eyes. The moment Michael disappeared though, my father's hatred returned tenfold, and for a while, it fueled my own. A hatred that became so consuming, I fled my own home and found a new one, one Michael had invaded and left again.

Sam left hours ago and now I sit on the couch, Sheriff Bailey's dinner invitation beats like a drum at the back if my head but so does Michael's promise to return. The wine glass

The past I ran from seven years ago or the possibility of a very different future.

A floor board creaks behind the couch and I turn to see Mikey tip-toeing toward me.

"What are you doing up?" I ask him, glancing at the clock to see its well past one.

His feet freeze, resuming their journey when I open my arms. "I couldn't sleep." He sits down next to me, leaning against my arm.

"Me neither." I gently kiss the dark curls on the top of his head.

"I told Sof I would give Dad a chance if he comes home tomorrow?"

My hearts seizes for a moment. "How do you feel about that?" I force the question past my lips.

"I know he's not coming so I don't care." I feel his shoulders shrug lightly and I wrap my arm around him, giving him a tight squeeze. "But if he does I'll- I'll talk to him."

"Me too." I whisper a promise to both my son and myself. "If your dad comes back tomorrow I'll give him a chance too."

***