Jack walked over to the bed, picked up the wildflowers he had dropped, and placed them in a plastic water cup on my bedside table. He pulled a chair up next to me and sat down, a warm, grandfatherly smile spreading across his face as he looked at baby Emma.

“She’s beautiful,” Jack said softly. “Looks just like your mother.” I never saw Brandon or Charles again. True to whatever promise Jack had extracted from them, the divorce papers arrived less than forty-eight hours later, granting me sole custody and a financial settlement that ensured I would never have to worry about providing for Emma.

They never contested it. They never called. Sometimes, I look at Uncle Jack while he’s rocking Emma on the porch of his cabin, sanding down a piece of pine wood. I still don’t know the full truth of what he did before he became my quiet, sweet uncle.

And honestly, I don’t want to know. All I know is that when the monsters in my life thought they had me cornered, they forgot that I was raised by someone who knew exactly how to hunt in the dark.