Spencer found himself seated on a beanbag chair in the corner of your daughter’s bedroom, a soft smile on his face.

You were currently in the process of lulling her off to sleep, seated atop her bed, running your hands through her hair.

Spencer had no idea how he’d gotten so lucky.

It felt like all those years of getting shot constantly and chasing serial killers had paid off.

He felt happy. The happiest he’d felt in a long time.