Page 46 of Monk

I gripped the steering wheel with both hands and took a deep, steadying breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions churning inside me. “Tatum.”

“She started it,” she said immediately, her voice sharp and defensive, almost aggressive. Her chin lifted higher.

“I don’t care who started it,” I said firmly, turning in my seat to look at her directly. “You donothit people. Ever. You keep your hands to yourself, and you use your words. We’ve talked about this.”

“She said—” Her voice cracked suddenly, all that bravado crumbling in an instant, and I saw the tears welling up in her bright eyes, threatening to spill over. “She said her daddy is the president of a big, bad motorcycle club and that he’s important and strong and rides everywhere and—and that my daddy isdead. That he’s gone, and he’s never coming back, and that makes me a loser.”

My heart broke into a thousand pieces.

“Baby.”

“My daddy wasn’t a loser! My daddy was in a motorcycle club too. You said so. You told me stories about him. Why did my daddy die and hers got to live? Why did my daddy have to leave us?” Her tears streamed down her dirty cheeks now, cutting clean lines through the mud.

God, this was killing me. The weight of it sat heavy on my chest, pressing down like a physical burden, making it hard to breathe sometimes, especially in moments like this when the past came rushing back with brutal clarity.

I never lied to Tatum about who her dad was.

From the very beginning, I had always been honest with her, even when the truth was painful and complicated, even when I had to explain things that no child should have to understand about loss and absence and the cruel randomness of fate. She knew he rode a motorcycle, that the rumble of the engine was like a second heartbeat to him, a sound that called to something wild and free in his soul. She knew he was part of a club, that he wore the leather cut like it was a part of his skin, like it waswoven into his very identity, and that the brotherhood meant everything to him. Sometimes, if I were being honest, it meant more than anything else in his life. And she knew he died before he ever knew she existed, before I could tell him about the tiny life we created together on one perfect, reckless night, before he could hold her in his arms or see her smile for the first time or know that he had left something beautiful and lasting behind in this world.

The unfairness of it all still gutted me, even after all these years. John never knew what he was missing and Tatum would never know what she lost.

“She was bragging about him,” Tatum continued, her voice trembling with anger and grief, that volatile mixture of emotions that kids her age didn’t quite know how to process or control yet. “She said I don’t have a daddy, and she does and—and I got somad, Mom. I just—I wanted her to stop talking. I wanted her to shut up and stop rubbing it in my face.”

I reached over and cupped her muddy, tear-streaked face in my hands, feeling the grit of dirt and the wetness of tears against my palms. “I know, sweetheart. I know it hurts. I know those words cut deep.”

“It’s not fair,” she whispered, her chin trembling, her blue-gray eyes—his eyes, God, they were so much like his—filled with fresh tears. “Why does she get to have a daddy and I don’t? What did I do wrong?”

My heart cracked right down the middle hearing that question, the one I had been dreading since she was old enough to understand what she was missing. I wanted so much to tell her that I was terribly wrong. That I made a mistake thinking the worst, that her dad was alive and well. But then I remembered John’s face when he saw Tatum standing outside the barn. The anger, the hurt, the pain emanating from his eyes as he thoughtthe worst, then his anger overriding all common sense, thinking I betrayed him, before he rode off in a fit of madness.

“I know it’s not fair,” I said softly, my own throat tightening with emotion, fighting back my own tears because I needed to be strong for her right now, even though inside I was falling apart. “And I know it hurts when people say things that make you feel bad about it, when they make you feel different or less than. But hitting someone doesn’t make it better. It won’t bring your dad back or change what that girl said.”

She shook her head slowly, a tear sliding down her cheek, cutting a clean line through the dirt and mud that covered her face.

“When someone says something that hurts you, you tell a teacher. You tell me. You use your words to stand up for yourself, to tell them how you feel and why what they said was hurtful. But you donotuse your fists. Violence doesn’t solve problems, baby. It just creates new ones. Okay?”

“Okay,” she whispered, her voice small and defeated, barely audible above the sound of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.

I reached over and wiped the tear from her cheek, smearing the mud slightly. “You’re strong, Tatum. You’re so strong, just like your daddy. But being strong doesn’t mean hurting people. It means knowing when to walk away. Even when it’s hard. Even when you’re angry and sad and it feels like your heart is breaking.”

She nodded, sniffling.

I pulled her into a hug, holding her tight, breathing in the scent of her strawberry shampoo mixed with dirt and sweat. “I love you,” I whispered. “So much. And your daddy—he would have loved you too. So, so much.”

“I love you too, Mom.”

I pulled back and buckled her seatbelt, then put the car in drive and pulled out of the school parking lot.

The drive through town was quiet.

Tatum stared out the window, her face still blotchy from crying, her hands folded in her lap. I kept my eyes on the road, my mind racing with everything I needed to do today—call the moving company, follow up with the law firms I had contacted, check in with my dad about the farm’s finances.

I was exhausted. Bone-deep, soul-crushing exhausted, but I couldn’t stop. Couldn’t slow down. Not when there was so much at stake.

I pulled up to a red light on Main Street, my fingers drumming against the steering wheel. The sun was bright, the sky a clear, endless blue. It was the kind of day that should have felt hopeful.

Instead, it just felt heavy.

And then I saw him.