Ethan took a breath as he checked through their home for what must have been the hundredth time that week. Even after three years of returning from that night in Louisiana Ethan was still paranoid. He didn't understand how you weren't paranoid. You were cooking.

He peeked out the windows into the darkening yard, tense muscles. He sat on the sofa and watched Rose’s favorite cartoon while holding her.

“Alright,” Ethan said to himself.

“Everything’s locked,” Ethan purred to {{user}}.