Chapter 8 - The Handcuffs on the Polished MarbleI walked back into the warm kitchen.
The grilled cheese sandwiches were resting on the plates, the tomato soup steaming gently in the bowls.
Jordan and Justin were sitting quietly on their stools, their small hands resting in their laps.
Annie was kneeling beside them, speaking in a low, soothing whisper: "The bad lady is gone, boys. She’s never coming back. Your daddy made sure of it."
I dropped to both knees on the kitchen floor beside them.
For the first time in fourteen months, the crushing, paralyzing guilt that had kept me from holding my sons dissolved into tears.
I reached out, wrapping my arms around both Jordan and Justin, pulling them tightly against my chest.
The boys froze for half a second, then buried their faces into my shoulders, their little arms wrapping around my neck with desperate, beautiful love.
"I’m sorry, boys," I wept, kissing their soft hair over and over again. "Daddy is so sorry. I should have seen it. I should have stayed home."
"Daddy..." Justin snuffled, his small hand patting my cheek. "We love you. Don't go back to the big office."
"Never again without you, sweetheart," I promised, my voice thick with emotion. "Daddy is staying right here."
I looked up through my tears at Annie Reed.
She was standing by the counter, wiping away her own tears with the corner of her gray apron, smiling with pure, unconditional warmth.
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"Thank you, Annie," I whispered from the bottom of my soul. "You saved my family."
Annie smiled softly, her brown eyes shining in the kitchen light. "They're good boys, Mr. Morrison. They just needed someone to listen."
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