No one.
And with the way she loved her daughter, I couldn't do that to her. I couldn’t put that vibrant little girl in danger like I had my own son. I was destined to be alone forever, and that was fine with me. I’d had my chance. I’d created my family. Then, I’d squandered it by becoming comfortable, and I paid the price for my comfort. Men like me didn’t lead comfortable lives. I got selfish. Greedy. I let my guard down, and it had cost me my family.
I wasn’t going to let my guard down for anyone else.
A knock at my front door pulled me from my trance. I put my beer down and made my way to the front door. I picked up my gun off the kitchen table and tucked my hand behind the front door. My entire body was alert for whatever was on the other side.
“Is he home?”
“I’m not sure, sweetie.”
“But we made cookies.”
I opened the door and found my neighbor and her little girl standing on my front porch.
“Told you,” the girl said with a grin.
“Told her what?” I asked.
“That you were home. Your truck’s in the garage,” she said.
“Observant,” I said.
“Thanks. I get it from my daddy.”
My eyes whipped over to my neighbor, and I watched a sort of pain rise in her eyes. Her gaze faltered, and she swallowed hard. To most, the moment would’ve passed them by without them acknowledging it. But I saw it, and I knew. It was a pain only those who had experienced it would recognize. I held her gaze as she brought her eyes back to mine and held out the cookies for me to take. My heart thundered in my ears for a few seconds.
“We made these for you,” she said. “I’m Cindy, by the way.”
“What for?” I asked.
“The cookies?” she asked. “For helping my daughter with her knee.”
“See? It’s all better now thanks to you,” the little girl said.
“I didn’t do much. Your mother took care of you,” I said.
“Well, you helped,” the little girl said.
“Hardly.”
“Just take the cookies,” she said, looking annoyed like only a five-year-old could.
It was hard not to laugh.
“You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?” I asked.
“Yep. I get that from Mommy.”
I watched a grin spread across Cindy’s cheeks as a pang of hurt pinched my gut. She really was a beautiful woman and filled with a hurt I understood.
In any other lifetime, I might’ve even cared to introduce myself to her.
“What’s your name?” the little girl asked.
“What’s yours?” I asked.
“Lillian. But everyone calls me Lily.”