I was paralyzed with fear when I listened to Joseph speak with the angry man downstairs. I squeezed my eyes shut as I listened to their conversation. My grip on Briar was tight as I kept her close to my chest, and I prayed she could not feel my panic.

Who was this man?

Why was he so upset about Miles having a wife?

I focused on my breathing to try and calm my pounding heart. Every time the man shouted, I flinched and pulled Briar closer. When Miles told the man to speak to me, it felt like my heart stopped beating. I managed to convince myself to open my eyes when I heard the floor creak under the man's feet as he rushed into our home.

I was standing at the top of the staircase. The man came into view when he entered the kitchen, but he did not see me. He was a middle-aged man, and he was seething with his hands clenched into fists at his side.

His death happened so quickly.

Miles grabbed the back of the man's shirt and pulled him backward. He used a kitchen knife to slit the man's throat. My stomach twisted with nausea when I watched the blood spray across the kitchen. His brief screams sounded gurgled as he choked on his blood. The man's lifeless body dropped to the floor, and I could not stand to look at the horrific scene any longer. I rushed into our bedroom and slammed the door shut. My body trembled, and I feared I would drop Briar. I placed her down in the crib. My hands shook as I ran my fingers over her dark hair. She made her usual small noises as she threw her hands around. She was blissfully unaware of what just happened.

Had she seen her Father murder a man? She was a baby and would have no memory of this moment, but I would have hated for her to see something so brutal. She could not be raised in a house where violence was common. I refused to let her have a childhood like mine.

The door opened, and Miles walked into our room. The sleeve of his shirt was soaked in blood, but the knife was no longer in his hand. Crimson splatters were across his neck, and a few drops landed on his face. Seeing all of the blood made my head spin as I felt the color drain from my face. My knees buckled, and I attempted to hold onto the crib to keep myself on my feet. It was not enough, and my legs gave out underneath me.

Miles rushed over to me. I held onto my temple and closed my eyes to stop my head from spinning. Nausea was bubbling in my stomach, and I chewed on my lip to stop myself from vomiting.

Miles grabbed my wrist to pull my hand away from my face. His fingers were wet with the man's blood. I gasped and tried to pull back, but he tightened his grip to stop me. I gagged, but Miles did not let go. Worry was etched on his face as he leaned in closer, but my attention was focused on the blood coating my wrist.

"Maisie," he said.

"No." My voice cracked. Suddenly, I was aware that I was crying. My cheeks were wet with tears. "Why did you do that? Why did you kill him?"

"I had to do it," he said.

"No!"

"Maisie, don't scream. You don't want to upset Briar."

He was right. If I kept shouting, Briar would start crying and screaming. It was unfair to upset her with my panic. I was unsure if I would speak without raising my voice, so I shook my head.

"He was going to hurt you, Maisie," Miles said. How did he keep his voice so calm? "He was going to try and take you away from this family. He was going to try and take you away from me. I had to kill him to keep you and Briar safe."

I took in a sharp breath to control my tears, but I was not very successful. Miles tightened his hold and was crushing my wrist. A bruise was probably forming under the blood coating my skin.

"I could not let someone else hurt this family," Miles said. "That's what Vincent wanted. He wanted to hurt us."

"Who was he?" I asked.

The shock of seeing the man's death made me forget most of their conversation. Only certain parts were stuck in my head, which formed the conversation into an incoherent mess. His anger was the most vivid part of the memories.

"A person our family used to know," Miles said. "He never liked us. He specifically hated me. Always did."

I swallowed past the lump forming in my throat. I wiped the tears off my cheeks with my free hand. Miles loosened his grip, but he still kept a hold on my wrist.

You are a freak. After everything you have done, you are an absolute monster.

The man had spoken with so much hatred in his voice. He spoke like the words were venom, and he wanted to destroy Miles.

I stared at my husband. The blood of the man he murdered was splattered on his neck and face. His large size was once intimidating, especially with his tall height and broad shoulders. It was the first thing I noticed about him when Joseph brought me to the home. He was easily capable of overpowering and hurting me, much like the countless men in the tavern, but he never did. He never wanted to see me hurt. He was not a monster, but he was protecting me.

My savior.

"He called you a monster," I said. Miles stared at me and did not react to my words. It was a risk to ask him a question, but I had to ask. "Why did he say that?"

Miles let out a deep breath. He broke eye contact with me, and his attention was focused off to the side. I did not turn to look at what he was staring at because I was focused on his blank expression. I looked for the smallest changes that could signal what he was thinking about. For a minute, he stayed frozen like a statue. His only movement was the rise and fall of his chest with each breath.

What was going on inside his head?

The tremble in my hand was subtle as I reached forward and cupped the side of his face. My touch brought Miles back to reality. His dark eyes widened, and he looked at me again. I stayed silent as I forced a soft smile, hoping to encourage him to keep speaking.

"Vincent never liked me. A lot of people did not like me. They all thought I was," he paused while searching for the word, "different."

Miles leaned his head into my hand. I stretched out my thumb to run it across his cheek. I was unsure how much he was going to tell me, but at least it was something. Asking a series of questions for details would most likely upset him, so I stayed quiet and hoped he would explain more.

"There was a girl at our church," Miles said. "We had known each other since we were children. We did not speak to each other a lot, but we were friendly when we were young. Alice was always pretty, especially when we got older. I struggled to talk to her, and she thought I was really odd."

Miles closed his eyes for a moment like a wave of memories were crashing into his mind. My chest tightened, and I tried to focus on my breathing. It seemed like he was confessing something he had never told anyone before. My mind raced as I struggled to figure out how it related to Vincent.

"I really liked her," he said. "Every time I tried to do something for Alice, she seemed so uncomfortable. Nothing I did was right."

When I first met Miles, I was thrown off by his blunt and strange comments. His mind worked differently than most men I had met, but I had grown accustomed to the way he thought. His intentions were good, even if they seemed bizarre.

"One of Vincent's sons was also interested in Alice," he said. "Oliver did everything he could to make me seem like a freak to Alice. He told her I was disturbed. He filled her head with stories about how I liked to torture animals and start fires. After the church burned down, she would never talk to me again. They all blamed me."

"Did you do it?" I asked.

The question slipped off my tongue. Miles opened his eyes. His large brown eyes were warm, but the rest of his expression was his unreadable mask.

"It doesn't matter," he said. "Oliver and Alice are married now."

Miles let out a deep breath as he let go of my wrist. He pulled away from me as he stood. He placed his hands on the railing of the crib and stared down at Briar. His knuckles turned white as his muscles grew tense again.

"Go wash up," he said. "I'll stay with Briar. Don't go into the kitchen."

My knees shook as I pushed myself up onto my feet. I quickly scanned my body to see that Vincent's blood was only on my wrist. Miles did not move as he watched Briar, who was now asleep. I kept my gaze on the floor as I hurried to the bathroom. When I passed the staircase, I squeezed my eyes shut to ensure I would not catch a glimpse of the dead body.

Images of Miles slitting Vincent's throat flashed in my mind as I washed away the blood. When I returned to the bedroom, I saw that Miles had not moved. His stare was intense as he watched Briar sleep.

"Go to bed," Miles said. "I need to clean, and it is going to take a while."

He did not move as I changed my clothes. There was no way I would be able to fall asleep, but there was no point in arguing with Miles. I stepped up to the crib to take one last look at Briar. She looked so peaceful and innocent. I prayed she would never have to witness any of this violence.

Miles was silent as he stepped away from the crib. He walked over to the bed and pulled back the blankets with his clean hand. He cocked his head to the side to motion for me to lay down. I followed his request and laid in the bed. He covered me with the blankets, and I rolled onto my side. He moved his bloody hand forward but stopped himself before he touched me.

Without saying another word, he turned and left the room. For hours, I laid in bed awake and waited for him to return.