Chapter 15
Roque
I t had been two weeks since I brought Kairo and Kaida home, and I still wasn’t sure if any of it felt real. The days blurred—early mornings, late nights, bedtime stories, tearful outbursts over the wrong socks. But we were settling. Slowly.
The funeral had been brutal.
Seeing Kemble’s dad in his wheelchair, looking smaller and grayer than I’d ever seen him, had nearly broken me. The man barely spoke—just stared at the caskets like he was trying to will them open. Kemble’s brother hadn’t made it, we still hadn’t been able to track him down. And no one had any clue how to reach Aislinn’s parents. No one had a phone number or an address, nothing. She hadn’t spoken to them since she married Kemble, and I didn’t know the whole story, just that it was enough to make her disappear from their lives.
The kids had clung to me the entire time. Kairo understood just enough to be quiet and confused, and Kaida just cried because everyone else was crying. I’d held it together for their sake, but after they went to bed that night, I sat on my bedroom floor and lost it for a while.
Now, though, we were finding a rhythm. I’d gotten them into daycare. Thank God Sayla helped with the forms because I swear those things were more complicated than police reports. It wasn’t cheap, but it was the best place in the area, and they liked it. Kairo came home with finger paint masterpieces and stories about his new friend who only wore superhero capes. Kaida was already bossing around the other toddlers. I was grateful for it—for a little bit of normalcy in the chaos.
I was back at work, too, no more working from home. Stepping into my office had felt strange like I’d been gone for years instead of weeks. Judd had caught me up as fast as he could, but there was a lot to unpack.
While I’d been gone, a complaint had come in against one of the officers we’d already suspected of playing dirty. A woman had reported him for witness intimidation—it turns out the cop’s brother was stalking her, and instead of protecting her, he tried to scare her into dropping the charges.
And just this morning, one of the newer analysts brought us a list that made my stomach turn—stop-and-search reports, traffic stops, incident reports, all pointing to another officer racially profiling half the damn town. Patterns so obvious a blind man could’ve seen them.
Judd was livid. I hadn’t seen him that pissed since the Delgado case.
“I can’t believe this shit was happening under my nose,” he muttered, pacing my office like a caged animal. “We don’t get to fix the world, Roque, but I’ll be damned if I let this department rot from the inside out.”
I didn’t have anything comforting to say, he was right to be angry. I was furious, too. But we’d start tearing it down, piece by piece, if we had to. We’d been rooting out corruption for months, and I hadn’t expected to find this much rot left behind.
And when I clocked out, picked up the kids, and saw Kaida’s entire face light up when she spotted me at the daycare door, it reminded me why I was doing this, why it all mattered.
I probably seemed flippant about what was going on at work, but the truth was, I’d spent the entire day neck-deep in reports, following paper trails and bad decisions. The case we were building was solid—ugly, but solid—and in between that, I was still attending calls, still wearing the badge like it didn’t weigh more daily. But now, I had to shut all that off.
I had two little humans in the back seat who didn’t care about corrupted chain-of-command charts or stop-and-search discrepancies. They just wanted dinner, cartoons, and a story before bed. And right now, they needed me . Not the detective, not the guy burning down dirty corners of the department—just me.
I pulled up in front of the house, headlights washing over the front porch. Habit had me glance across the street to Sayla’s place.
Still dark.
I frowned. Her car wasn’t in the drive, and none of the porch lights were on. She usually left one on, especially with the contractors still going in and out. I reached for my phone and typed a quick message before unbuckling.
You okay? Your house is dark. Is everything good?
For a second, I hesitated before hitting send, a tight feeling curling in my gut. Maybe something had gone wrong with the renovations again—or worse, perhaps something had happened toher.
The kids were laughing before I even opened the door. As soon as I lifted them out of their seats and got them inside, both dogs barreled toward us, tails wagging like they'd been gone a week instead of a few hours.
“Okay, okay,” I laughed, setting Kaida down as Kairo dropped to his knees to greet them. “We missed you too, guys.”
Even the grump, Dog, sat watching from his perch on the windowsill like some judgmental older man. He hadn’t entirely accepted the new world order yet. But then Kaida walked up to him slowly, gentle as anything, and reached out to stroke the top of his head.
Dog blinked at her. Then, in a rare moment of complete surrender, he rolled onto his back and exposed his belly.
My eyes widened. “Wow, you’re officially part of the family, Kaida. He doesn’t do that for anyone .”
She giggled and dropped to her knees beside him, and for a second, everything else faded—just the warmth of the house, the echo of tiny feet, and the soft thud of dog tails against the floor.
I picked up the mail on the way to the kitchen, flipping through the usual junk and bills. One envelope caught my eye—plain, with no return address, and postmarked locally. I slit it open without thinking.
Inside was a single photo.
Me, standing outside the daycare with Kaida on my hip and Kairo holding my hand.
My heart slowed, then sped up, beating hard and heavy in my chest.
I stared at it for a beat before pulling out my phone and snapping a picture. Then, I walked into the kitchen, grabbed a Ziploc bag from the drawer, and sealed both the photo and envelope inside. Then, I slid it into the cupboard with the cups in it until I had time to bring it in.
Me: I just got this in the mail. There is no return address. It is a photo of me dropping the kids off.
I hit send to Judd with the picture attached, and within seconds, his reply buzzed through.
Judd: Bring it all in tomorrow. Make sure your alarms are on tonight.
I already had. The day after they were installed, I shared access to the feeds and alarm sign-ins with him, and he monitored them like a hawk.
Still, the message settled in the pit of my stomach like a stone.
I turned to the stove and started pulling things from the fridge for dinner, listening to Kaida babble to the cat and Kairo explaining something very serious to one of the dogs. My world had changed, and someone out there was watching.
Let them watch because I’d die before I let anything happen to these kids.
And they’d have to go through me—and a whole lot worse—before they ever touched the kids or Sayla.
Dinner was simple—homemade chicken nuggets cut into little dino shapes because apparently that made them taste better. I’d made extra, too, a few plain ones set aside on a separate plate. Kairo and Kaida were on official treat duty, getting to hand-feed the dogs and try to tempt Dog with a bit of chicken (he sniffed it, blinked slowly, and walked away like the food offended him personally).
I was just about to start plating up when my phone buzzed on the counter.
Sayla: At Evie’s tonight. We need to talk tomorrow. I have something to show you.
I frowned, the shift in my stomach immediate.
Me: Is everything okay? Do I need to worry?
It took a minute before her reply came through.
Sayla: Alex and DB have it covered. Don’t stress.
Which, naturally, made me stress more.
Before I could spiral, my phone buzzed again—this time a message from Alex.
Alex: She’s here. She’s safe. Don’t worry.
A second later, another from DB.
DB: All good. You’ll get the full story tomorrow. She’s in good hands.
I stared at the screen for a moment, jaw tight, thumb hovering over my phone like I could squeeze more information out of it. But Alex and DB were solid. If they said she was okay, I believed them. Still, the fact that she wasn’t at home and hadn’t said much didn’t sit right.
Alex: She’s staying here tonight. We’ve got it.
That helped—a little. I locked the screen and stuffed the phone into my back pocket.
I was tense, yeah, but relieved, too. At least Sayla wasn’t alone. Whatever it was, she wasn’t dealing with it by herself—and if something had happened, Alex and DB were the kind of men who knew how to handle trouble. Still, I pulled my phone back out and texted Judd to make him aware, just in case.
I took a deep breath and looked at the chaos in the living room. Kairo was now giving an earnest pep talk to the Skynyrd about "gentle bites," and Kaida was standing with one chicken nugget pinched between her fingers, trying to tempt Dog from the windowsill like he was some kind of wild animal.
My lips twitched at seeing my cat obstinate and ignoring her. I couldn’t protect everyone at once, but Sayla was safe. And right now, these two were what I could focus on.
“All right, nugget patrol,” I called out. “Get your hands washed, it’s time to eat!”
They squealed and ran for the sink, the dogs following close behind, hoping for another dropped treat. I turned back to the plates, dishing up dinner and grounding myself in this moment.
Tomorrow would come, and whatever it brought, I’d be ready.
I lied—I wasn’t ready for what tomorrow brought. Not even close.
It started at 3 a.m., with Kairo sitting bolt upright and projectile vomiting all over his police dog sheets. Kaida followed twenty minutes later, her poor little body trembling as she clung to me, tears streaming down her cheeks. I panicked—of course I did.
I remembered the Pedialyte in the bag Evie had dropped off, and I got some into them. Or tried to. I may have gotten it in, but it didn’t stay down.
By 5 a.m., I was on the phone with Evie, pacing in my kitchen in boxers and an old T-shirt, trying not to sound like I was completely losing it while I loaded the washing machine with puke-soaked bedding and pajamas.
“They’re throwing up the Pedialyte,” I whispered hoarsely, pressing the phone to my ear while I stared into the machine like it held answers. “Evie, what do I do?”
She was calm, thank God, talking me through it like she was reading a script she'd rehearsed for years. “Give them small sips, like, tiny—a teaspoon at a time. Wait fifteen minutes between sips in case they throw up again. You’ve got this, Roque.”
Now, a few hours later, I was on the couch, both kids asleep on either side of me, their heads nestled into pillows resting on my lap, the tops of their heads just touching. I didn’t dare move. My body ached, my eyes burned, and I had no clue how people did this day in and day out.
Was this what parenthood actually was? A slow descent into exhaustion punctuated by bodily fluids and fear?
I was just letting my head tip back against the couch when there was a knock at the door.
I tensed, then gently shifted the kids just enough to slide out from under them. They stirred but didn’t wake, still warm, and snuggled into the pillows.
I checked my phone, smiling when I saw who it was. Then I crossed to the door and opened it quietly.
Sayla stood there, bags in hand, hair pulled back in a messy bun, and dark circles under her eyes, which said she hadn’t slept much either.
Without a word, I stepped aside to let her in, then guided her to the kitchen and closed the door behind us. The moment it clicked shut, I leaned in and kissed her, slow, exhausted, and grateful.
“Welcome to hell,” I murmured. “I either gave them food poisoning, or I’m experiencing my first daycare disease.”
She laughed softly against my chest, and it was the best sound I’d heard all morning.
“I figured something was up,” she said, setting the bags down and getting straight to work. Out came more Pedialyte, tubs of Gatorade powder, and a box of Pedialyte popsicles, which she immediately tossed into the freezer.
Then she pulled out another bag—this one carefully packed—containing a large tub of homemade chicken soup, two fresh coffees, and a wrapped breakfast sandwich that smelled like heaven.
I narrowed my eyes, already guessing. “You talked to Heidi and Evie, didn’t you?”
Sayla smirked as she pulled out a final box filled with frosted cupcakes. “Guilty. Heidi said you’d need this. And these—” she tapped the cupcake box— “are for after they’re better. It might be an incentive for their stomachs to settle down.”
I was about to thank her when I felt a soft tug around my shin. I looked down and saw a pale, sleepy Kaida standing beside Sayla, her little arms wrapped around her leg like I’d seen her niece, Nemi, do.
Sayla looked down in surprise, then melted instantly. “Hey, sweetheart.”
Kaida blinked up at her with glassy eyes and gave her a shy little smile. “Hi.”
My heart did something weird in my chest.
I crouched beside her. “This is Sayla,” I said gently. “She brought some stuff to help your tummy feel better.”
Sayla knelt, brushing a few damp curls away from Kaida’s forehead. “Would you like a popsicle for your tummy, honey? One that tastes like a grape?”
Kaida stared at her for a moment, then slowly lifted her arms, asking silently to be picked up.
Sayla didn’t hesitate. She scooped her up gently, holding her close like she’d done it a hundred times before. Kaida laid her head on her shoulder, a soft sigh escaping her lips.
I just watched them, throat tight. Chaos or not, hell or not—this right here felt solid: something I didn’t know how to name but didn’t want to live without.
“Let me get that popsicle,” I said, already moving toward the freezer.
And for the first time since 3 a.m., I felt like maybe—just maybe—I could do this.
Sayla
I helped Kaida hold the popsicle, carefully keeping the melting grape juice from dripping onto her pajama top. Her fingers were still a little shaky, but her color returned a bit, and she leaned into me like she was finally comfortable.
While she sucked on the popsicle, I poured a weak grape Gatorade into a sippy cup and handed it to her. She took a tentative sip, then another, before returning her full attention to Shrek , which was playing softly on the TV.
Donkey was doing his thing—loud, ridiculous, and impossible not to smile at—and Kaida let out a sleepy giggle that made my heart ache in the best way.
It was when I glanced over that something made me still.
Kairo had woken up at some point. He was lying on the couch where Roque had left him, his head tilted slightly and his eyes watching me and his sister quietly.
I offered a soft smile and leaned forward a little. “Hi, Kairo. I’m Sayla,” I said gently, not too loud or bright. “Would you like a popsicle to help cool your tummy down?”
He didn’t say anything but gave the faintest nod, his eyes wide and tired. I could see the wariness and hesitation there. It hit me like a punch to the chest.
Roque had gone to grab a quick shower—he’d looked like he needed it—and now all I could think about was how much better Kairo would’ve felt if he were here.
Still, I got up quietly, grabbed another popsicle, and poured some Gatorade into a second sippy cup, just in case.
When I returned, Kaida was chattering softly to him, as toddlers do—completely nonsensical but full of conviction. She pointed at the screen, back at me, and then to the popsicle like she was explaining a very important system.
Whatever it was, it seemed to make sense to Kairo because when I knelt beside him and handed him the treat, he took it with a small, hesitant smile.
“Fanks,” he whispered.
I blinked back at the sudden sting in my eyes. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”
Roque came in just then, hair still damp, clean t-shirt clinging to his chest. He clocked Kairo immediately, a relieved smile tugging at his face.
“Hey, buddy,” he said, crouching beside the couch. “This is Sayla. She brought some cupcakes and soup over for when you feel better. They’re the best ones you’ll ever taste.”
Kairo’s eyes flicked to me, then back to Roque. He didn’t say anything, but he looked settled.
Kaida had started to droop again, her little body wilting like a flower in the sun, so I tucked her in beside her brother, pulling a light blanket over them. She curled into him instinctively, and he didn’t move away.
They watched Shrek like that, quiet and soft and close, and I stood for a moment longer just watching them.
Then, I padded into the laundry room and transferred the sheets into the dryer. The smell of detergent filled the space, clean and grounding.
When I stepped back into the kitchen, I turned to Roque. “I’ll leave you to it,” I said softly. “They’re okay now, and you’ve got this.”
He glanced over at the couch, then back to me. “Do you have to go?”
I hesitated. “It’s probably better for them if I do. They’ve had a rough night.”
He nodded reluctantly. “Yeah, okay.”
I moved through the living room to say goodbye, crouching to brush Kaida’s hair back when Kairo’s small hand suddenly closed around mine.
“Can you stay?” he asked, voice small but certain.
My heart stuttered. I looked up at Roque, who just nodded once.
“Okay,” I said, squeezing Kairo’s hand. “I’ll stay.”
And I did.
The day passed in a haze of cartoons, cold compresses, and soft voices. I rubbed little backs when the kids curled beside me, helped Roque cycle through endless loads of laundry, and tried to stop the dogs from knocking me over every time I stood up. Even Dog head-butted my leg once like he was starting to accept me again.
By evening, the kids hadn’t thrown up for hours, and their eyes were brighter, so we gave them some soup—just a little, warm, and careful. They ate it without fuss.
That was when I saw it in Roque’s eyes—the shift. The weight was still there, but underneath it, something softer. Something hopeful.
And somehow, I felt it, too.