42. Because I want to be sweet to my baby. - Nick

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After ten o'clock on a Monday night in mid-November, the sidewalks outside our building are normally empty

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After ten o'clock on a Monday night in mid-November, the sidewalks outside our building are normally empty. Night falls earlier with each passing day, and people hole up in their warm apartments.

Funny how things change in a year. Last year, Sierra and I were gearing up to head home so she and my family could meet. Now they're nearly as obsessed with her as I am. We come to the same home every night and share everything.

It's not always easy. The number of hours I put in wears on our relationship. SiSi's busy, too, but the shininess of her job has dulled these days. I would never knowingly break a promise to my girl, but I'm realistic about what I can commit to.

A heaviness settles into my chest as I enter the lobby of our condo, finding the doorman frowning like a disapproving dad. He's not always here at night; sometimes it's the other man Rafael.

Several times, John opens and closes his mouth, then grimaces and shakes his head. "Something's wrong."

"Excuse me?"

He walks around the side of the tall desk to approach, bouncing his fingers together. "Sierra came home stumbling and upset."

I take a deep breath, then wait. Hesitating, he glances around before closing his eyes like he doesn't want to see my face when he continues.

"And then Peter came home two minutes behind her, asking me if she had gotten home okay."

My eyebrows nearly reach the ceiling. "Were they together?"

"No, but they weren't very far apart in arriving. And then when Sierra brought the dog outside, she would barely look at me."

"Thanks," I say, striding to the elevator. I punch the up button, then our floor number over and over until the doors slide closed, then zooms upward.

The dog whines on the other side when I stick my key in the deadbolt, and I'm horrified to find it unlocked. If something was wrong, I have no doubt the dog wouldn't be dancing in circles to greet me as I pop the door open, but it's still worrisome. "Hi, girl," I whisper, offering my hand.

Grateful John mentioned the dog has already been out, I lock the door tightly behind me. My bag falls to the ground with a thunk and I rip my shoe off, hopping on one foot to get the other off. Foot finally free, I jog toward the bedroom with the dog hot on my heels and find Sierra sprawled out on her stomach, facing away from the door.

Our bedroom is lit up like Vegas, and my heart stops at the scene. Items lay haphazardly strewn over the bed; her iPad softly playing a video, an empty White Claw can, an orange prescription bottle...and an Altoids tin.

Gasping, I jump over the corner of the bed to kneel next to her and shove two fingers onto her neck, searching for her pulse. Relief courses through me as I feel it thrumming, then check for other damage.

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