Every night since Vincent's death, I had been unable to sleep. We abandoned the carriage and hid that he had come to our home, but my brain was unable to forget what happened. I was unable to shake off my anxiety that someone, either one of Vincent's sons or the police, would be knocking on our door asking about Vincent. Our family would be ripped apart because Miles tried to keep us safe.

I hid the whiskey bottles I bought when I was in town for supplies. Miles refused to go with me into town, and I could no longer fight the temptations. Alcohol was the only thing that would keep my mind calm enough so I could fall into pockets of sleep. I avoided Miles when we were outside because I did not want him to see me stumbling around the farm. I promised him I would stop drinking, and I did not want a long speech about being irresponsible. The only time he talked was when he gave me condescending lectures. During dinners, I kept my head down and refused to speak to him before going up to my room.

I had fallen asleep when the empty whiskey bottle rolled off the bed and shattered on the floor. I groaned as I rubbed my aching temple. A terrible taste filled my mouth, making me nearly wretch. My head spun when I tried to lean down and pick up the shards of glass, so I pushed them all to the side with my foot. It was a problem to fix in the morning when I felt better.

When I looked out the window, the light from Miles's fire was gone. I grabbed the half-empty bottle and oil lamp on my dresser before dragging my feet out of the bedroom. I moved around the dark house and bumped into some of the furniture as I made my way to the back door. No noise came from Miles's room, so I was not loud enough to wake them. My hands shook as I fumbled to get my key in the lock. I took a deep breath of the fresh night air as I sat on the porch steps.

I squeezed my eyes shut as I leaned forward and buried my head in my hands. The image of Clara's face filled my mind. Twenty-four years of memories hit me like a wave. I saw her as the beautiful unknown girl in my church, the gorgeous bride, and the happy new mother. All of that was taken away because of a drunken intruder.

Why did this have to happen? I tried saving my family, but the world wanted to hurt us. Why was this happening? Why was our family targeted? Why did God want this to happen to us?

I mumbled a drunken ramble, but I did not pay attention to my own words. I curled my fingers into my hair. My scalp burned as I tugged at the strands. The questions would not stop running through my mind.

The hinges on the backdoor creaked as the door opened. I groaned as I raised my head from my hands, expecting Miles to come out onto the porch. Instead, Maisie stepped outside. She was wearing a nightgown, her feet were bare, and her hair was braided.

I forgot to lock the door. If she told him, Miles would be furious. I muttered a curse as she walked toward me, and the door closed.

"Go back inside," I said.

Maisie did not listen. She continued walking forward and sat next to me on the step. The wind blew the strands of her hair, and she crossed her arms over her chest. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"The fresh air is nice," she said. "It's been so long."

"You need to go back inside," I said. "It's not safe for you out here."

"You're here with me."

The lamp caused shadows to flicker over her face, but I could see her smile. She did not turn to look at me, and her attention was focused on the dark farm. The half-empty whiskey bottle was by my feet. I thought about trying to hide it, but Miles and Maisie were aware I had been drinking again. There was no point in trying to hide it.

"Why did you come outside?" I asked.

"You sounded upset," she said. "And I know how terrible it is to be alone."

I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair again. She must have heard my sobs and drunken rambles. We were protecting her, so I could not break down and let my emotions take over. I could not look weak.

"I thought I was always going to be alone," Maisie said. "I thought I was always going to be doomed to that lifestyle. I dreamed of having so much more than just all of that misery, especially after my grandmother died."

Maisie still did not look at me. Her hands were folded on her lap as she leaned forward. There was no fear that she was going to run. She would never leave us. She loved us.

"I hated those men so much," she said. "They were so disgusting. They made my skin crawl. To them, I was just a piece of meat they could both terrorize and use for their own pleasure."

It had seemed odd that such a lovely girl was in such a terrible bar. Seeing how the men snickered at the young girl was disgusting, especially after that fat man with a beard called her a whore. In that moment, I knew we had to protect her.

"Do you remember the night we met?" she asked.

"Every detail," I said.

Maisie finally looked over at me. Her smile was so soft and warm. Despite everything that had happened in the past few months, she did not look like the scared girl I met in the tavern. She was now a wife and mother.

"I knew you were special right away," I said. "A beautiful girl who values family. That is something rare. I had to save you."

"If I knew you were going to let me leave that life, I probably would have said no," she said. "I hated being there, but realistically I would have been too scared to leave. I would have been too scared to embrace something new, but I am so happy that I am here. This is so much better."

She bit down on her lip and closed her eyes for a moment.

"All of this is almost perfect," she said.

"Almost?" I asked.

"Yes," she said. "I hate the violence. I have always hated violence. This cannot keep happening."

I let out another deep breath as I rubbed my temple. The alcohol was wearing off and the headache was already creeping in. I lifted the bottle and took a swig of my whiskey. The burn was delightful as it ran down my throat. I held the bottle out toward Maisie, but she shook her head. I took another drink to give myself more time to think because she was right. There could not be any more murders. It was a miracle no one had questioned us about the ones that had already happened.

"I'll speak to Miles," I said. It was not a great answer, but it was something. "You should go back inside."

"You need to be sober when you do talk to him," Maisie said, ignoring my request. "He is not happy that you have been drinking."

"I'll be sober," I said, but I was not confident. I needed to reassure Maisie. "He is not going to hurt anyone again. He has just been scared since Clara died. Emotions have always been difficult for Miles, but he will learn to cope with this."

"Will he?" she asked. "What if this goes on for years? What if he never changes? He thinks that killing people will keep us all safe, so he will keep doing it. I do not want Briar to be around that. I don't want her to think this is normal."

Maisie let out a deep breath. She ran her hand over her hair as she looked out at the dark farm. I glanced over my shoulder to take another look at the door. Miles would be furious if he saw Maisie outside.

"You should go back inside," I said.

"Is Briar going to spend her life locked in the house?" she asked. "Will she ever meet someone outside of our home? That cannot be healthy."

She chewed on her bottom lip and picked the skin around her fingernails. I placed my hand on top of her knee, but her nervous movements did not stop. Her breathing grew quicker, like she was going to be overtaken with emotions. If she started sobbing, the sound would wake Miles. Clara's mind used to spiral with anxious questions, and I could see that in Maisie.

"Go back inside," I said. "Before Miles notices you're gone."

She nodded, knowing that neither of us wanted to deal with the consequences of him seeing us on the porch. She smoothed her nightgown as she stood. Taking one last look at the farm, she let out a deep sigh.

"You promise you will talk to Miles?" she asked.

"I will," I said. "Just get inside."

Maisie turned and climbed the few steps. I grabbed the bottle before looking over my shoulder. Once she went inside, I would lock the door. She was smart enough not to tell Miles she was outside, but I did not trust that she would not attempt to come outside. When she hesitated by the door, it confirmed my suspicions.

"Maisie," I said, giving my voice a stern edge.

"He doesn't mean to do anything bad," she said. "He is not bad. He is not evil."

"Go to bed, Maisie."

She put her hand on the doorknob and closed her eyes.

"I love my family," she said.

"We love you too," I said. "For your safety, you need to get back inside."

She nodded and stepped inside. I took a swig of my whiskey before stumbling across the porch to lock the door.

Talking to Miles was necessary, but I doubted it would go over well. I needed to convince myself to keep myself sober enough to confront him. The sooner the better because it could quickly become too late.