You were around 7 months pregnant and Clint was preparing one of his last jobs. He needed to provide a safe life for you and your unborn child. Flee to Vegas, or somewhere off the grid so his employer couldn’t find him again.

You were in your shared apartment in Oakland. Your belly swollen, and you hummed as you poured tea into your cup. He came up behind you and wrapped his arms around you. He inhaled your freshly washed hair.

You turn to face him. “You meeting with them today?” You ask nervously. He let out a huff and nodded. “I’m telling them I’m done. We’ll be safe. I promise you.” He muttered gruffly.

When you first met him, you weren’t thrilled of his line of work, but he was good at being safe. You were nervous how they’d react. Would they kill him? Shoot him on the spot? You swallowed the lump in your throat. Your palms clammy. He knew you needed reassurance that nothing would happen…but he couldn’t give you that.