For the first time in days, Sophia did not go to the prison.
She turned off her alarm, buried her face in the pillow, and decided—firmly—that she needed a break.
Not from the story.
Not from the investigation.
From him.
Nathan Hale had a way of occupying her thoughts even when he wasn't speaking. His calm voice, his sharp observations, the way he looked at her as if he knew her better than she knew herself—it was exhausting.
And dangerous.
So when her sister called early that morning, asking her to watch her son for the day, Sophia didn't hesitate.
"Please," her sister begged. "Just one day. I have work, and the daycare is closed."
"One day," Sophia sighed. "Fine. But if he breaks something expensive, I'm blaming genetics."
Her sister laughed and hung up.
---
A very different kind of chaos
By nine in the morning, Sophia's apartment was no longer hers.
It belonged to Leo.
Five years old.
Too much energy.
Endless questions.
And a talent for turning silence into disaster.
"Aunt Sophia," Leo asked, standing in the middle of the living room with a serious expression, "what happens if you put cereal before milk?"
Sophia, still half asleep, shrugged. "Nothing."
Leo nodded thoughtfully.
Then poured cereal all over the table.
She stared at the mess.
"…I meant in theory."
"Oops," he said cheerfully.
The rest of the morning followed the same pattern:
• Burnt pancakes
• Juice spilled on her notes
• Her phone mysteriously disappearing (later found inside the fridge)
Despite herself, Sophia laughed more than she had in days.
By noon, she gave up and decided to take Leo outside.
A walk. Fresh air.
A normal day.
---
Across the street
Nathan Hale stood near the café across the road, hands in the pockets of his tailored coat.
No cuffs.
No guards.
No concrete walls.
Freedom looked good on him—dangerously good.
The case against him was still open, but money had a way of opening doors. Lawyers. Delays. "Temporary release."
He wasn't supposed to interfere.
Wasn't supposed to get close.
But when he saw her, he stopped walking.
Sophia stood near a small park, laughing as Leo ran in circles around her. She looked… different. Relaxed. Softer. Like the weight she usually carried had been set down for a moment.
Nathan watched quietly.
Then he noticed the man beside her.
Tall. Well-dressed. Too close.
Her coworker.
Nathan's jaw tightened.
He told himself it meant nothing.
That he had no right to feel anything at all.
Still… he didn't look away.
---
A small, imperfect, happy moment
"Aunt Sophia!" Leo yelled. "Push me higher!"
Sophia rolled her eyes. "If I push you any higher, your mother will never forgive me."
"Pleaaaase."
She pushed the swing anyway.
Leo laughed, loud and carefree, and Sophia felt something warm settle in her chest.
Her coworker—Daniel—smiled at her.
"You're good with kids," he said.
She snorted. "Don't be fooled. I'm barely surviving."
Daniel laughed. "You've been quiet lately. Everything okay?"
Sophia hesitated.
Then nodded. "Just… tired."
From across the street, Nathan watched her nod.
Watched her smile politely.
Watched her exist in a world that didn't include him.
It shouldn't have hurt.
But it did.
---
Waiting
Sophia checked her phone later that evening.
No messages.
No missed calls.
She told herself she was relieved.
Yet somewhere, deep down, she felt the absence.
Across the street, Nathan finally turned away.
He hadn't approached her.
Hadn't spoken.
Hadn't interrupted.
He had simply waited.
And for the first time in a long while, Nathan Hale understood something terrifyingly simple:
Freedom didn't mean peace.
And distance didn't mean indifference.
Sometimes, the hardest thing wasn't being locked away.
It was watching from the outside.