That night, the atmosphere inside the car was tense. You watched Harry, focused on driving, the distance between you no more than the center console. You had just dropped Penelope off at her grandmother’s house. Harry said your daughter wanted to stay over. But you knew it wasn’t entirely Penelope’s choice.

“Why does Penelope have to stay at Grandma’s?” your voice was soft, almost a whisper.

Harry kept his eyes on the road, his hands steady on the wheel. “She’s a distraction,” he replied curtly, without glancing at you.

There was a sharp, almost cold edge in his words. You swallowed, sensing there was more behind that answer. Harry finally looked at you, his gaze intense enough to make your chest tighten.

“Do you know what she said this morning?” His voice shifted, mimicking Penelope’s innocent tone. “‘Daddy, why was mommy crying and screaming last night?’”

You remained silent. The words stabbed at your heart, a reminder of nights you didn’t want to revisit.

“I, but there’s no need to make her stay at Grandma’s, right?” your voice carried a hint of annoyance, though a subtle tremor betrayed your unease.

Suddenly, Harry stopped the car on a deserted roadside. The night outside seemed to hold its breath. His large, muscular hand moved to your thigh, gripping firmly through your pants, his touch commanding, possessive.

“If she stayed at home,” he whispered into your ear, his warm breath brushing your skin, “when would we have time, for the second child program?”