He Murdered Our Son, I Faked My Death

p to Mar

eyes red-rimmed. He was

whispered, his voice

air. His touch

hing they could,

reath. "Leo... he fought hard, b

All

were so brave. But the damage... they had to... they had to perform a hy

hand, his thumb

cold, hollow ache whe

d to my stomac

lat

m, my voice a

s name.

ah. Our boy is gone. It' s my fault. I

sn't even a good

away, staring a

t house, I saw Mark hunched over his d

atch. Intricat

ago. I' d thought... I' d hoped it was f

, hopefu

oking at?" I ask

ndow quickly. "Oh,

ooks like the one you were de

. "No. It's... for a clie

t, dismissed L

ive. That client m

not meeting my eye

was not important enough for such a g

shattered, seeme