Page 87 of The Widower
“Hey, that’s not true—I’m nothing like that.”
Hanna came running back to us, her face scrunched up in the most dramatic, pitiful expression. I’ll admit, I almost fell for it. Almost.
“Why the long face?” Colin crouched down to look at her.
“’Cause my mom wants to go home.” She pouted at him, then turned to me with accusing eyes, like I was the villain for wanting to leave.
Such a little actress…
“You’ll be back tomorrow, sweetheart.”
“Yeah, but I wanted to stay longer today.” She crossed her arms, sulking a little.
I started laughing, and I could see Colin fighting not to do the same.
“Your mom’s got things to take care of back home. But tomorrow, she’ll let you stay longer. Maybe we can play again too—depends on how well you behave tonight.”
“Okay. I’ll be happy!” she said quickly, her frown disappearing into a big smile.
This time, Colin laughed outright, and I loved the way he talked to Hanna. I never imagined he’d be so gentle with kids, but apparently, there’s a lot I don’t know about Colin Adams—because that man is full of surprises.
“Can we get to Uncle Colin’s house earlier tomorrow, Mommy?”
Oh, for heaven’s sake…
We were on our way home. Colin had told me earlier that Tito would now be our designated driver to and from the mansion every day. I still thought it was over the top and didn’t want to cause extra trouble, but if you’ve ever tried arguing with Colin Adams… good luck winning that battle.
“No, sweetheart. Your mom needs to sleep.”
She had no idea that while she spent her days running around playing, I spent mine running after her, hair a mess and nerves shot.
“Do you like Uncle Colin, Mommy?”
Of course. Perfect timing for that question. She really is a miniature version of me—no doubt about it now.
“He’s nice,” I said simply, while she kept her curious eyes fixed on me. The less information, the better.
You know those kids who stop whatever they’re doing just to stare at you, like they can see straight through your soul? Yeah, my daughter’s one of them.
And as if that weren’t enough, kids somehow know when you’re uncomfortable. Then, just to torture you, they keep staring, waiting for you to say something, while all you want is for them to stop looking at you like you’ve committed a crime.
“Uh-huh.”
The car stopped—but the moment I opened the door, panic flooded me.
My house looked completely destroyed. I hadn’t noticed at first, since the car windows were tinted darker than usual, but once I really saw it, I froze.
There were at least three police cars parked out front. As soon as the officers saw me walking toward the shattered door, they rushed over.
“Tito… take Hanna. Now,” I said quickly.
“Yes, Ms. Isabelle.”
For a split second, I panicked, thinking my mom might be inside—but then I remembered she was coming home late tonight.
“Are you the owner of this house?” one of the officers asked.
“Yes,” I managed to say, still dazed.“What… happened?” The words barely came out.
