Chapter 5: The Choice
Grace caught Damon before he reached the garage. The air was frigid, the winter wind whistling through the columns of the porch like a mourner’s sigh. She grabbed his arm, her grip surprisingly firm for a woman who had spent months terrified of her own shadow.
“You’re going to kill him,” she stated, not as a question, but as an indictment. Her eyes searched his, looking for the man she had married before the rage had consumed him.
Damon didn't look at her, his eyes fixed on the black car waiting in the drive, his hand instinctively moving toward his coat—toward the cold, heavy weight of the weapon tucked inside. “He took my son’s voice, Grace. He took my wife’s peace. He isn't a human being anymore; he’s an infection. And the only way to treat an infection is to excise it completely.”
“If you pull that trigger, you become exactly what he wants,” Grace said, stepping directly into his path, forcing him to stop. “You become the tragedy. You become the reason our son continues to hide in the dark. Do you want to be the legacy he leaves behind, or do you want to be the man who finally broke the cycle? Do you want Eli to grow up knowing his father is just another monster?”
May you like
Damon’s hand stopped on the lapel of his coat. The struggle in his eyes was visceral—a war between the need for vengeance and the instinct to protect. He wanted the blood; he wanted the finality that only a bullet could provide. But the image of Eli, sitting in his room and drawing a bird with wild wings, flashed through his mind, anchoring him to the present.
“Justice isn't a bullet, Damon,” Grace whispered, reaching out to cup his face. “Justice is showing Eli that he doesn't have to fear us. Justice is coming home and not having to wash the smell of death off your hands.”
