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When he lays down on the bed, boneless and numb, staring up at the circling ceiling fan overhead, he almost wishes… almost, that he would close his eyes and never wake up again.
Last night, he had everything he could’ve ever wanted and he was ready to put his personal life before everything, before his darker needs, before the Dark Passenger. And now, just as fast as his sister lost two of the people she cared about, he’s lost Rita as well.
There’s this numbness in his chest that hasn’t gone away since the moment he heard her cellphone ringing in the house. A cold solid slab of nothing that he can’t shake no matter how hard he tries.
Dexter closes his eyes tight, squeezing them shut in hopes of a different outcome.
He feels something press into him and breathe softly, humming. Rita. Dexter starts to lean into her, drifting in the dream, the smell of her, feeling her skin under the press of his lips.
“You excited for tonight as much as I am?”
He opens his eyes to look up at her, “Tonight?”
Rita giggles, “Well, I’ve got plans for when you fly in after me,” she says lowly and gives him this suggestive look… just like she had yesterday.
Dexter sits up and stares at her, and then he looks around.
Is today…
“Today’s Sunday?” he asks and she blinks, and then she giggles, nodding. And he can’t stop himself from leaning in to kiss her, wanting to feel the warmth of her skin, the sound of her laugh.
He touches her hair, her cheekbones, dropping his chin to press his lips to her sternum and then covering her breast with his open palm.
“Dexter,” Rita lets out a shaky breath as he closes his eyes, feeling the strong beats of her heart.
“You’re alive,” he says and hears her giggle again.
“You have a bad dream?” she asks back and he tenses, but then relaxes in her embrace when he feels her legs spread to accommodate his hips, her heavy breathing picking up as she tilts her chin.
It doesn’t take much to get him on the same page even on a normal day, but right now he wants to surround himself in her, remind himself what she feels like when she’s still breathing, still with him. Still alive. And not just alive, but happy. With him.
He moves down, pushing her gown up, wanting to taste her, treasure her, hiking her legs up onto his shoulders as she gasps and arches into him.
Dexter makes sure that when she leaves with Harrison, Rita doesn’t forget her ID. Now there’s no reason for her to return to the house, no reason for her to cross Arthur’s path.
If that’s what all of this was.
Perhaps some… elaborate dream to prepare him for this moment, to warn him of the threat. Maybe something in his subconscious? It seems far-fetched, but the morning was the same, even down to where he found Harrison’s toy, stuffed under one of the parts of the couch.
There’s only one way to be sure, and that’s to wait Arthur out.
In his vision – or his dream, whatever it was – Arthur came here, either looking for him or looking for a way to hurt him. So, if it was all true, then there’s a sure way to know. Because he never would’ve suspected Arthur would come here, and there’s no reason for him to have, other than to get his own sort of revenge on Dexter.
If Arthur doesn’t show up, then he was wrong. And if he doesn’t, Dexter will have to hunt him down, but it won’t be long before he knows the truth. Rita had been deceased for hours. He’ll have time to catch up with Arthur if this turns out to be false.
But, for now, there’s no reason to be anywhere else.
There’s no point in visiting the Mitchells’ house, getting caught up in the SWAT team mess, and there’s no reason to go looking for his car. Arthur will, hopefully, come to him this time.
In the meantime, he cleans up around the house, prepares his kill-kit, and moves into a waiting position when he hears the car pull up to the house.
Not the taxi Rita left in. But some stolen or rental car that he parks in the driveway.
Dexter stands at the other side of the door, listening as Arthur breaks into his home. His blood starts to boil, face twisting up in a sneer of sickness and anger.
He doesn’t even want to savor this, he just wants it done and over with. He’s already had the satisfaction of killing Arthur, this time… it’s not to keep his Dark Passenger at bay. It’ll be for revenge. For Rita. For her life having been cut short by this monster like so many other mothers.
“This is the right place,” Arthur says as he starts to walk around the house, touching some of the kids’ toys, “This is the house of a father and family man. Not Kyle. Kyle Butler. This is the house… of…” he walks up to the pictures on the wall in the living room, “Dexter Morgan. And his little family of Morgans.”
Dexter continues to wait, listening to him talking to himself as he looks around, touching everything, walking with the confidence of a real psychopath, following behind him as Arthur starts to head down the hall. Just before he turns to look into the bathroom, Dexter jabs him with the needle and catches him as he starts to fall.
He drags Arthur out the back door, sifting through his pockets for the keys to the rental car, and then he goes out front to turn the vehicle around. He puts all of his things in the passenger’s side seat, including his rolls of plastic sheeting, and then he goes back to where he left Arthur sprawled out in the backyard.
Arthur is heavy, of course, but he still manages to fit (very uncomfortably) in the back trunk.
He goes to the place he killed Arthur the first time around, but he doesn’t bother to set the place up like he had before. There’s no desire for nostalgia here, or giving Arthur what he wanted, letting him listen to the record or turning on the train. He doesn’t even wake Arthur up.
Something inside of him has been unleashed, and all he wants in that moment is to make sure that Arthur Mitchell is dead and can never hurt another human being again.
Everything is done and over so quickly that he decides, instead of waiting around Miami to hear from Debra and the SWAT team, he books an earlier flight and follows after Rita. She’ll be surprised to see him come in early, but he’s less worried about that now that Arthur is sinking down to the bottom of the ocean.
The hardest part of the day is done and over… and he can relax.
He’s in the middle of packing his things when his phone starts to ring and Dexter pulls it out, checking the screen before putting it to his ear.
“Sister.”
“Dex,” Debra says, panting into the phone, “Where are you right now?”
He glances around the house, “Home,” he says, “I’m packing now to go-”
“You weren’t on the plane with Rita.” It’s said like a question, but doesn’t end as a question, coming out more like a stunned statement, some kind of confirmation.
Dexter frowns at the shaky tone to his sister’s voice and moves the phone to his other ear, “No. I’m still in Miami.”
His stomach clenches when he hears her start to cry, a torn, broken sound somewhere between relief and sorrow.
“Oh, god,” she says and he pulls out one of the chairs at the table, sitting down at it as he listens, waiting for her to explain. He’s trying hard not to jump to conclusions. Is this about Brian? About her knowing the truth? Did something happen at the Mitchells’ that didn’t happen in his dream because he was there?
Dexter nervously checks outside, relieved himself when he doesn’t see a team of cops pulling up to his house or something.
He doesn’t know what’s going on, but he’s afraid of what she’ll say next.
“Dex, I’m sorry,” she says, or he thinks she says between sobs, “I’m sorry. I thought I lost you too. I thought you were on the plane too.”
Lost? On the plane?
He blinks, brows narrowing, “What are you talking about?”
“It’s all over the news,” Debra says, “Dex, it’s all over the fucking news.”
Dexter walks over to the television and grabs the remote, turning it on and flipping through a couple of the news channels until he finds one of them talking about-
“-till looking through the wreckage of the plane but, at this time, there are no survivors confirmed. So far, there have been reports from the crew on-site that they have located the plane’s black box to try and determine-”
Dexter sits down slowly on the couch as he looks through the list of confirmed casualties scrolling in a live feed on the right side of the screen. And then he sees Rita’s name. And Harrison.
“Dex?”
He can barely hear his sister.
The phone starts shaking in his hand and drops, the sound of it hitting the ground causing him to jump in his seat and he looks down at it. He stares at it for a long time. The news continues to play and he leans on his knees as he feels something inside of him start to break into pieces. It’s like… walking into that bathroom again and seeing her there. Seeing Harrison covered in blood. Seeing her dead eyes.
“Dex?”
He turns numbly to see Debra squatting down in front of him and then he looks to the cellphone in confusion.
“How did you-”
“You had me worried, asshole,” she says as she grabs his shoulders, “You just stopped talking and I… I didn’t know what to do so I drove straight here. Jesus fucking Christ, Dex. I…” she turns, grabbing the remote and turning off the television, “Fucking fuck, I can’t hear myself think with how loud that thing is.”
He hadn’t even noticed it.
Debra turns back to him, “What…” she lets out a breath, “What are we doing? We need to go, right?” she asks, “We need to go retrieve her body. Retrieve… Harrison’s body.”
He can’t think about this.
He doesn’t want to.
Dexter closes his eyes, digging his palms into them as he starts to rock back and forth. He can’t see them. He can’t do this.
“I’ll call over there,” Debra says, standing up and he lashes out, grabbing her wrist and she stops, turning to look at him, “What the hell?”
“Don’t…” he looks at her, “Don’t… Deb-”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she says, taking her wrist from his grip, “I’m just gonna call the department over there and see if I can have it handled. Okay?”
He nods a few times and presses his hands to his mouth.
She stares at him for a moment before lifting her phone, turning away and speaking lowly into it to whoever answered back at the station.
He doesn’t really listen in, his whole body tensing whenever she says Rita’s name, or when Debra mentions him by name. He’s not sure how long it takes, but she eventually ends the call and sits down next to him, shuffling her phone back and forth between her hands.
“Captain Matthews is going there.”
He blinks in surprise, looking over to her, “Matthews?”
“Everyone at the station was going through it before I left them to be with you,” Debra says, choking back a sob and letting out a shaky breath as she stares at him, “You’re one of us, Dex. And Rita… and Harrison… they’re family to everyone at Miami Metro. I didn’t even have to convince them, they practically shoved me out the door.”
Dexter looks back down to his hands.
“So what do you wanna do?” Debra asks, “We need to start preparing-”
“Not today,” he says, putting his face in his hands.
“Alright,” she agrees easily and he’s somewhat relieved for that, “But, first thing tomorrow morning, we need to start setting things up for the funerals.”
He squeezes his eyes shut, “Deb-”
“Tomorrow,” Debra cuts him off, “Okay. I won’t mention it again today. Do you… want me to stay with you?”
Not really.
What he wants is to sleep.
To go to sleep and wake up tomorrow, and have this all be another nightmare.
“No.”
Debra stares at him. Even with his hands covering his face, he can feel her eyes on him, watching his every move.
He lets out a breath the moment she’s gone, and then he lays on his side on the couch, and turns back on the television.
Waking up the next morning to the sound of his wife’s voice is like the kind of calm he experiences after taking a life.
Knowing that she’s alive. Somehow. Knowing that her and Harrison didn’t die in a plane crash. Knowing that he doesn’t have to plan their funerals or do anything that Debra tried to suggest yesterday.
She’s alive.
It doesn’t make any sense at all to him, but she’s still alive.
And he has a second chance.
Or, in this case, a third chance.
And a fourth. And fifth. And no matter what he did, the day kept repeating. Every morning he wakes up with his wife alive and breathing, and every night…
His control has been dwindling with each passing day.
It doesn’t matter how many times he ends it, the result is the very same. Even when Rita doesn’t die, the day resets just the way it did the first time.
He has killed Arthur Mitchell three hundred and twenty-three times now. And, out of those times, Rita has died more than half of them. But, no matter what happens, the day is doomed to repeat itself.
There have been times in his life where Dexter has felt close, very close, to the brink of insanity. His relationship with Lila certainly tested him. Going too long without a kill. Miguel. Nearly losing his sister which, as fresh as it seems, was almost a year ago now, if each repeated day could be considered.
But this is a new low for him.
The only comfort he has is that he’ll wake to Rita’s arms around him no matter how the day before ends. She may die, but she won’t be dead for long.
He doesn’t want to leave this morning, but that’s never worked before, so he lingers in her arms for as long as he can, and then he helps get the kids packed up and sent off with their grandparents.
Rita leaves, also as usual, without her ID.
Dexter has mapped out every event in this scenario by this point.
He knows exactly when Arthur will arrive, and when Rita will arrive after. He knows when she’ll die and Arthur will leave.
Normally, he has a plan for this part.
But he’s come in early and taken out Arthur long before his wife could arrive to die in the first place. It still ends with the day repeating. So, if that is not the fix, and there is a fix… then what would the fix be?
Dexter watches Arthur from the shadows of Harrison’s bedroom, watches the old man walk around his house, touching his things, talking to himself.
If he took him out now, it would be no different tomorrow. And if he waits too long, Rita will get caught up in it again and, as long as he’s managed it so far, she’s only died from Trinity’s hands the one time. And, so long as he’s alive, it’ll never happen again.
Minutes pass.
By now, he would’ve taken Arthur out, M99’d him in the hall, dragged him out to the door, turned the rental car around, and dumped him in the back. He’s done it so many times now that he could do it in his sleep. But again, it wouldn’t change anything.
So, he continues to wait, unable to justify taking Arthur out and just living through another of the same day again.
He waits, coiled like a snake… and then he hears the car door shut.
“Aww, sweetie, I know,” he hears Rita’s muffled voice from outside as Harrison cries, “Mommy’s silly, isn’t she? Daddy told me last night not to forget it and I still did.”
Arthur moves into a hiding place adjacent from him. Dexter could grab him now, but he’d never be able to get out of the house in time. And still, it likely wouldn’t change anything in the end.
Rita comes in and sets her bag down, leaning on the counter as she takes her phone from her bag and he feels all of the color start to drain from his face-shit! He normally silences it, but he stopped… months ago at this point.
Dexter doesn’t get to it in time.
It starts ringing.
Arthur turns to the sound as well, just as Dexter lunges out to grab him.
Everything happens so quickly, he catches Arthur’s wrist and runs him backwards to keep his guard down, slamming him into the wall beside the bathroom, taking the knife he’s been holding onto and jabbing it up-schlunk. Arthur shakes at first, and then his lifeless body goes limp.
“Dexter?!”
He looks up to see Rita standing there, her eyes wide as she holds Harrison with his face turned away.
Dexter lets go of Arthur, his heart beats thundering in the silence of his darkened house, Rita’s face the only thing lit by the spill of sunlight coming from the kitchen window.
He lets go of the blade and holds his hands out, “Rita…”
Her eyes go to the blood on his hands and then her eyes snap back up to his, “Did he hurt you?”
Dexter forms the word ‘no’ but it doesn’t come out so he just shakes head – a small, jagged sort of movement, eyes wide and unblinking.
Rita moves in closer and touches his brow, “You’re bleeding.”
Dexter shakes when he feels the burst of pain where she touches him, looking down to see her hand come away from him, red.
He looks back down at himself and then to Arthur.
“Who is he?” Rita asks and Dexter’s eyes snap back up to her, “Is he dead?” he nods, “What do we do with the body?”
“The body?”
“We can’t leave it here,” Rita says thoughtfully, “And I don’t think you can call it in… can you?”
Debra used to say he was like a fish out of water. He never got that expression… until now.
Rita’s lips purse, “What do we do?” he can’t respond, “Dexter?” he can’t say anything, “Sweetie-” he blinks the blurriness from his eyes so he can see her, but somehow being able to see her clearer only makes the pain worsen.
Tears drip down his cheeks one after another and the expression on Rita’s face softens even more.
“Let me put Harrison down and I’ll help you move him, okay?” She walks past him before he can even respond, stepping over Arthur’s legs sprawled out in the hallway and Dexter moves as she brushes passed him.
He watches her set Harrison down in the crib, pressing a kiss to his forehead and pulling the bedroom door almost fully closed as she comes back out.
Dexter tries to say something again but he’s too petrified, afraid of what words might come out, that all he manages to do is apologize to her. Rita just smiles and he hurts more. He doesn’t deserve to receive her kindness when he’s just done… what he’s done. In front of her.
What if this is it? What if this is the final time and the day doesn’t reset? And she doesn’t forget what he’s done?
“You’re gonna have to give me pointers,” she says, moving towards the body and Dexter grabs her arm, shaking his head.
“I’ll do it.”
“But he looks heavy-”
“Rita,” he warns her, “Just… let me handle it.”
But, to his surprise, she moves in closer and presses a kiss to his lips, “You’re not alone. Let me help.”
“Rita-”
“He’s bleeding out. And so are you.”
Shit.
They move the body together. Or, Rita puts a band-aid on his eyebrow and then they drag Arthur’s lifeless body into the bathroom and dump him into the bathtub, and then they spend the next half an hour cleaning up the blood and the mess they made getting Arthur Mitchell into the bathroom.
Rita sits on the edge once they’re done and wipes her forehead with the back of her hand, “What’s next?”
Dexter sits on the edge next to her, his hands in his lap, and then he laughs, looking over to her, “I have no idea.”
For once.
Rita smiles across to him and moves closer, leaning in to kiss his cheek, lifting her hand to cup it and rub her thumb against his skin, “Whatever comes next, we’ll get through it together. You’re not alone, Dexter.”
“Even if I told you I was a serial killer?”
The words come spilling out before he can stop them. Why did he say that? What’s wrong with him?
Rita stares at him for a moment and then looks to the body behind him, then back to him, to the door. She doesn’t look like she wants to run, but there’s a part of Dexter that expects her to. It’s the only logical reaction.
Her brows furrow a little, “This is why you thought that I would leave you,” she says, “Because you kill people?”
“Yes.”
“You thought I would be scared of you?” she asks and he nods.
“Aren’t you?”
Rita laughs softly and he watches her in disbelief as she leans in and rests her cheek on his shoulder. “No,” she says as she takes his hand between both of hers, “No, Dexter, I’m not scared of you. I…” she sits back up and looks him in the eyes, “I meant what I said. I want to know you, all of you. That’s why I married you,” she cups his cheek again and he leans into her touch this time, “I love you, Dexter.”
Dexter stares back at her and for a beat he thinks of the first time he saw her on their blind date, how incredibly beautiful she was, how drawn to her he was. He didn’t know how he felt at the time but he knew he was struck by something.
In the heat of a hunt, it was hard to recognize, only made more difficult by the fact that he just… didn’t understand those feelings at the time. But he… he recognizes them now. Only because the words occur to him, that they’re not just what he should say, but what he wants to say, what he feels.
How he feels.
He can barely hear anything over his heart racing and he touches his chest to feel it as Rita leans in to kiss him, “I love you too,” he says before her lips touch his.
Rita stops, eyes widening, “You do?”
Dexter feels a little flutter run through him at her asking him for clarification and his eyes start to shy away. She giggles and tugs his chin back.
“It’s okay, your secret’s safe with me,” she whispers, “Both of them,” her lips closing against his and he melts into her.
They sit there in a sort of companionable silence for longer than they probably should before he reminds himself that there is a corpse behind them – the leaking body of another human being. They really do have to deal with this, whether he likes it or not.
Rita stands up with him, letting his hand go and he panics for a moment, like she’s about to drop him into a vat of acid or ice cold water, abandon him, leave him, walk away to call the cops.
“What’s the plan?” she asks instead and his head snaps up from his empty hand.
“Hm?”
“Do you… know what to do with the body?” she asks somewhat vaguely.
Does he ever.
But does he tell the truth?
“I do.”
Rita squares her shoulders and stands back upright, smiling as she touches his shoulder, “I’m gonna check on Harrison. Do you need anything?”
My bone saw.
“No.”
She kisses his cheek and walks away. And he watches her go, not for the cellphone in her bag out in the kitchen, but for Harrison’s bedroom, slipping in quietly and leaving him to his devices.
This won’t be quiet or pleasant, but he’s had less to work with.
Dexter goes out for the plastic he had put aside for Arthur, for today, and gets to work. Maybe he should use the bone saw, but he doesn’t want to risk waking up Harrison or disturbing Rita more than she may already be.
He’s at the hardest part of the juncture – the spine – when Rita comes back in.
“Are you thirsty-oh,” she gasps, but it’s low and under her breath.
And he turns to see her at the door.
He’s only ever had this moment with two other normal people – Harry and Doakes – and Dexter can still remember with perfect clarity how Harry looked at him… and then puked. He remembers how both of them couldn’t look at him again, how they told him to stay away. Miguel accepted him, but Miguel was also a monster.
Rita… Rita isn’t like him. Rita-
“Sweetie, you look tired,” Rita says, her brows going up, “I could make you a glass of tea?”
Dexter could almost pinch himself for how surreal the moment is, it almost feels like one of his rare, twisted dreams, “I-… sure.”
“Half ice?”
“… Yes.”
She leaves him to it and he turns back to continue his work, carefully severing the last tendons and finally splitting the torso with the rest of the body. Blood gushes out, pouring down the drain. How ironic… to do this to him after what Arthur did to Rita that first night.
“Dexter?”
His eyes turn back from the massacre to see Rita offering him the glass, but she’s brought a straw, holding it up to his lips.
“You’re sweating,” she observes.
Dexter takes a sip, swallowing and glancing back to Arthur, “It’s a lot of work.”
“Can I help?”
He turns again, his eyes nearly bugging out.
Rita giggles, “Not with the body, I don’t… think I would be much help there,” she admits, “But is there anything else I can help with? What do we do with the pieces?”
Dexter considers it. Once he says this, his entire secret life will be out there in the open between them. She’ll know all of it.
“The… ocean.”
He watches the realization dawn on her and she nods in understanding.
“You’ll need to bag him up,” she says, “I’ll go get some bags.”
Dexter starts to go after her, almost letting go of Arthur’s upper half and nearly slipping, “Wait-”
Rita turns back to him, “More tea?” she asks and he sips it, and then he lets her leave, watching her walk back out of the bathroom.
He’s not sure if he should be bothered by the fact that she isn’t bothered by any of this, but she comes back in with trash bags and he finishes up in the bathroom, carefully cleaning up and washing everything he can away. He’s not sure if Rita will ever want to have a bath in this tub ever again, or that she’ll immediately insist that they move.
The rest of the night, he’s going through the motions, terrified of what’s to come tomorrow.
They take the parts out on the boat, they dump them together, they stay home instead of heading out on their honeymoon, they have dinner, they turn in early, and he goes to sleep with her in his arms like everything they just went through didn’t utterly, monumentally, and completely change things between them.
She’s still able to lay there in his arms and find comfort and safety.
Nothing has changed between them.
And, yet, everything has.
He closes his eyes and he falls asleep.
And when he wakes…
Rita curls into him and breathes softly, humming. He starts to lean into her-
“You excited for tonight as much as I am?”
He sits up, turning to look at her and then turning to look out the window. But he thought… he thought that, for sure, of all things to happen… he thought for sure yesterday would’ve been life-changing enough that… it would stick.
Dexter steps out of the bed, backing away from it.
“Dexter?” Rita asks, sounding concerned. She reaches out like she’s trying to comfort him and he slaps her hand away.
“Don’t,” he says as he covers his face.
Was yesterday just a dream? A dream in this hellscape to try and escape it? Everything he’s ever wanted handed to him and then ripped away like it meant nothing in the first place?
“You don’t remember yesterday. You don’t remember-”
“Dexter,” he can barely hear her voice, but she comes back in again, even as he moves into the corner and curls into it.
He shakes, covering his ears, closing his eyes.
He can’t be sure that yesterday happened in any capacity. It doesn’t make any sense, anyway, that Rita would accept him for who he really is. That she would see that side of him and not be completely terrified. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t have been. It must’ve been a dream, something that he made up to try and cope with the reality of being stuck in this hellscape.
And even if he wanted to test that theory, he can’t risk it. He can’t risk yesterday being a dream and revealing his true nature in front of her again. Because… what if she reacts the way he originally expected her to? What if he ruins everything? Permanently.
He can’t tell her anything, he can’t even tell her that he’s been repeating days…
But, then again, doing anything else hasn’t worked out so far. He’s lived this day for the better part of a year and nothing has ever changed. But he’s also never said a word about it to her, not once.
Dexter pulls his hands from his ears and drops his head back against the wall, staring at Rita sitting there patiently on the bed, her hands in her lap as she watches him.
Rita smiles nervously, “I’m here if you… want to talk about… about whatever it was you dreamed of.”
“It’s not a dream,” he says, taking a deep breath, “But I keep repeating today.”
“You keep…” Rita looks confused, moving down to the floor to sit in front of him and take his hands, “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I know every single part of today and nothing I’ve done so far changes it,” Dexter says, “We send Astor and Cody with their goofy grandparents off to Disney World, you and Harrison leave for the airport and if I don’t stop it from happening, you forget your ID. My sister breaks open the Trinity case today and they break down the doors of Arthur Mitchell’s home to arrest him only to find out that he’s not there. It happens every time.”
Rita’s eyes search his face as he talks, getting wider.
“The plane you’re supposed to be on crashes,” Dexter says, “So if you go on it, you and Harrison die. And if you don’t…” he shakes his head, “If you come back for the ID…” he puts his hands over his head, “I can’t stop it from happening, something always happens and the day always repeats again.”
Rita’s hands cover his and he closes his eyes, focusing on her touch, “What happens when I come back for the ID?”
He blinks and looks at her. That she’s even humoring this, taking it seriously, and not calling him insane feels like a miracle.
“I haven’t let it happen since the first time.”
Rita shifts closer, moving into the space between his legs, her hands coming down to his face, “What happened?”
“I came home that night,” he says, blinking, his lashes weighed down by tears he didn’t realize were in his eyes, “I missed a call from you and when I tried to call you back… your phone rang in the house. I found your purse. And then I could hear Harrison crying from somewhere in the house.” He feels sick just thinking about it, closing his eyes tight as he remembers back to that night. “I found him in the bathroom, there was blood… and you… you were… you were dead in the bathtub.”
Rita gasps.
“You’d been dead for hours.”
He feels her lips press to his forehead and Dexter opens his eyes again to look up at her.
“It was my fault-”
“It wasn’t your fault,” she says, sitting back on her knees, her thumbs brushing his cheeks.
“I knew who the Trinity killer was,” Dexter says, his eyes widening, “I’ve known for months but I didn’t kill him when I had the chance.”
Rita’s eyes widen, “Kill him?” she asks, and then she does the strangest thing. She sits down. Closer, her back against his left leg, her body leaning in close to him as she takes his hand down from his head.
His heart starts to race.
“I’m a serial killer.”
Rita laughs, not loud, but soft, almost relieved. And then she leans in even closer and presses her forehead to his neck, “Oh, Dexter…”
“You don’t think I’m serious.”
She pulls back to look him in the eyes, “No, I know you are. I know you wouldn’t lie about something like that.”
Dexter searches her face, “You’re not scared.”
Rita shakes her head and smiles, leaning in to kiss him, “There’s nothing you could do that would ever scare me, Dexter.” Her hand covers his heart, “I’m just… I’m so relieved.”
His brows furrow, “Why?”
“I’ve always wanted to know all of your… dark secrets,” Rita admits, looking down shyly, “Even if it could hurt me. Learning about the drugs was… it was hard, but we got through it together. And you’ve been clean for-”
“I’ve never done drugs,” Dexter says, figuring he might as well come completely clean.
Rita’s brows go up, “What do you mean?”
“I told you I had an addiction.”
She stares at him for a moment and then laughs again, “No wonder you didn’t want to go to Narcotics Anonymous. I thought I was doing something good for you, but all I ended up doing was pushing you away.”
“You didn’t know any better,” Dexter says, still watching her closely, waiting for the other shoe to drop, “I didn’t want you to know.”
“Of course not,” Rita moves in, cupping his face, “As secrets go… it’s a big one.” She kisses him and he feels his whole body pull to her, his arms wrapping around her waist. “I’ll keep it,” she says against his mouth, moaning between their lips meeting, “I always… had a feeling.”
Dexter stops and looks at her again, “What do you mean?”
Rita shrugs, “You would say things.” She rubs her thumb along his chin, “Like how you don’t hurt innocent people. I wasn’t sure if that was related to work, or if there was something else. I’ve always known there was something more, something you couldn’t tell me. I just thought that if I waited long enough, you’d trust me enough to tell me the truth.” She runs her other hand’s fingers through the hairs on his arm, “Does anyone else know?”
“No one alive,” he says, and then elaborates, “Harry knew.”
Rita hums lowly, “Is that why-”
“I didn’t kill Harry,” Dexter assures her, “He…” he sighs and squeezes his eyes shut, “He found out when I was young and tried to help me. Guide me. He did everything he could to make sure that I didn’t become like other killers. He gave me a code.”
He feels her lean into him, laying her head on his shoulder as he tells her everything. Once he starts, it’s like the flood gates open and he can’t stop himself from going on and on. He tells her about his first kills. He tells her about Brian. Lila. Miguel. He tells her everything.
She doesn’t interrupt him, apart from asking questions about things, details, humming lowly. She doesn’t even have much of a reaction at all when he tells her that he’s the Bay Harbor Butcher. To her, it all makes sense now. It’s like he’s piecing a puzzle together for her which, in this case, is a good thing. He can feel her relaxing more and more as he tells her all of his struggles over the years.
It’s not just her relaxing though, it’s him as well. As he unravels everything, he can feel all of the stress from the last three hundred days of his life bleeding out of him with each passing thing he says.
And then he tells her about Arthur Mitchell and the repeating days. The last few years have felt trying in their own ways, but nothing has ever tested him quite like this.
Rita’s quiet for a long stretch after he finishes, but then, “So what do you think will get you out of it?”
“Maybe it’s not something I’m meant to get out of.”
She pulls back to look him in the eyes, “You think it’s permanent?” she asks and he nods. She purses her lips, “You said you’ve tried everything.” He nods again. “Have you tried… not killing Arthur Mitchell?”
Dexter blinks.
He’s made sure to kill Arthur Mitchell every single day. There hasn’t been one time he’s missed out on the chance to take Arthur out. Because the alternative is…
“If I don’t kill him, he gets away.”
Rita hums again, “You said that Deb goes to his home, but he isn’t there. How did you find him?”
Dexter chuckles, “His car-” he stops, eyes widening, “I have his wallet. There’s a receipt for his car in there.”
He could plant it at the house, and be on scene when they find it, making sure his sister finds it and follows it up. She’s always good about that.
This might not be anything, but it’s something he hasn’t tried yet.
“It’s worth a shot,” he says, pressing his lips together, “We’ll…” he takes a breath, running his hand up and down Rita’s arm, “We can cancel your flight. Take a later one and I’ll go with you. But I… I have to go set this up before they head out there.”
Rita giggles and stands up with him, “Let me make you breakfast first.”
He leans in and kisses her, “Let me make breakfast with you.”
She giggles again, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he holds her close, one hand at the back of her head and the other around her waist.
“Ugh, see, I told you? They’re just doing gross things,” Astor says as he and Rita break their kiss and look to the door to see her and Cody standing there.
Rita rolls her eyes, looking back to Dexter and kissing him once more, patting his shoulders, “Alright, I’ll get started. And you-” she kisses him again, “-can meet me in the kitchen.”
He watches her leave the room, ushering the kids out with one last look back to him and then he moves to the closet to start getting dressed for the day.
While it was relieving to tell her everything, he still can’t help waiting for something else to happen. For her to call Debra and tell her, call the cops, sneak the kids out the back door. Every time someone finds out his secret, things always go badly.
He dresses quickly and heads out, down the hall to the kitchen to help Rita make breakfast for the kids.
At this point, he could do this part in his sleep.
Together, they eat, and then send the kids off with their grandparents, rebook the flight for later that night, and Dexter heads out to the minivan to get Arthur’s wallet.
“I don’t know if they’ll get to him before he gets here,” he says as he handles the wallet with gloves, carefully wiping it down, “You and Harrison can take an early lunch in town, stay out there until I call you to let you know we’ve got him. Until then, just-”
“Don’t go home,” Rita says as she buckles Harrison into the backseat, “And you won’t need a vehicle yourself?”
He shrugs, “I’ll go with them to the Mitchells’, Deb can take me. I’ll just tell her that you’re using the minivan to run some errands.”
Dexter bags the wallet tightly before putting it in his back pocket and they both close their doors together. He starts the vehicle and looks over when Rita’s hand closes over his.
“If this isn’t the last time…” she says as she meets his eyes, “Promise you’ll still tell me everything?”
Dexter stares at her, “Everything?”
“This morning,” Rita says, squeezing his hand, “I’ve never felt closer to you, Dexter. I’ve always wanted to know the truth and I… I love you. I want to be there for you when you go through these things. You don’t have to be alone, Dexter, I’m your partner.”
He doesn’t know what else to say, so he nods and pulls out onto the road, his heart nervously flipping and fluttering with her assurances. He could go through this all, only to have the day repeat once more, but what if it doesn’t? What if he sets Arthur up and they catch him, and that’s the way to get out of this repeating hell? What if he wakes up tomorrow… and Rita knows all of his secrets?
She knows about the boat, about dumping the bodies. He told her everything. She knows it all.
Dexter steps into the house with the rest of his team, careful to keep his head down so the Mitchells’ don’t notice him and blow his cover. The wallet in his back pocket has only gotten heavier.
If he does this and it works…
But can he go through with it knowing it’s a possibility?
Or should he wait for tomorrow, wait for a reset, and not tell his wife every little detail of his fucked up life? And continue to keep it a secret from her? He’s done it three hundred times now, repeating another day wouldn’t be that big of a deal.
But…
Doing that would mean that he’d have to continue living the lie he’s been living for most of his life, keeping it all a secret from her and continuing to hurt her in that way.
Would she be happier? Not knowing the truth?
Would she be safer?
Because not knowing his truths cost her her life. As long as he continues to be with her, she’ll always be in danger. But if she knows about it all, at least she could be more prepared. At least she would’ve known that the purpose for everything today was to ensure his family was away from home, away from Miami, and safe.
Had she known his secret, she would’ve called him about the ID, not come home alone.
Her death was ultimately his fault, and was because she didn’t know any differently.
And he can’t leave her.
He couldn’t leave her two years ago. And his bond with her, his connection with the kids, and the new baby, that’s all only grown more and more over this time.
If he lets her keep his truth, he might truly have a partner, a real partner, for life.
Dexter shakily takes the wallet from his back pocket and brings it around, taking it out of its bag and setting it on the nightstand in Arthur Mitchells’ bedroom. He stuffs the bag back in his back pocket and then reaches out, opening the wallet.
“Hey, Deb!” he says, trying to put some sincerity into his voice, a tinge of concern and excitement.
She’s not far behind, stepping into the room and joining him, leaning over his shoulder, “His wallet?”
“And look at this,” Dexter says as he offers the receipt to her.
She looks up from it, her eyes wide and wild, “Holy shit,” she says under her breath as she snatches it from him and darts out of the living room, waving it above her head, “This is it, this is the smoking fucking gun! Angel! Lookit what Dexter just fucking found!”
Dexter walks out after her, smirking.
“Hey, Karate Kid.”
He rolls his eyes and turns to look at Quinn, lifting his brows, “Quinn.”
Quinn moves in close to him, speaking lowly, “You pull that shit again, next time I won’t be the one whose on my ass.” He leaves and Dexter watches after him. He’s heard that threat more than a hundred times at least and it never manages to have the weight it had the first time.
There was a time when he was worried about Quinn. But he’s not worried anymore.
With time (and with the hope that today won’t repeat again), he’ll figure out the proper way to deal with that demon, just like he had to eventually deal with Doakes. Hopefully, it won’t end up the same way.
But at least for now, he doesn’t have to hide his secrets.
He’s decided to go all in. With both feet. And he didn’t understand that sentiment at the time, but he does now. He’s putting everything on the line. He’s trusting Rita to catch him in a way he’s never trusted anyone else before, just as she’s trusting him.
Going over the rest of the Mitchells’ home is tedious work when he’s still not sure if tomorrow will bring another Sunday or not. But at least he knows most of what he was able to find the last… hundred or so times he’s done it. He’s lost count of how many times he’s pretended to do this forensic sweep.
A couple of hours pass and then Debra walks into the garage where he’s working.
“We got him.”
He turns to look at her, “Who?”
“Deputies picked him up ten minutes ago,” Debra says, grinning, “Arthur Mitchell is officially in custody.”
“You heading back to interrogate him?” he asks and she nods.
“You fucking bet.”
He motions to her, “Any chance you can give me a ride? Rita’s still got the-”
“Right, she’s got your fucking mom-van, sure,” Debra motions to him, “This shit is gonna take a while, you should be on your vacation anyway. Masuka can handle the rest until you’re back.”
Dexter packs up his kit and joins her as they walk out to her car together.
“Thank you for joining us for this,” she says, touching his shoulder, “You didn’t have to but… I’m glad you were here.”
He sighs and looks out around the neighborhood now flooded with news reporters, looking to his sister, “I’m glad I was too. It feels… different.”
She hits his arm, “Yeah, no fucking shit. There’s a whole different kind of adrenaline that starts pumping when you’re backed by fucking SWAT, wearing a flak, and having the helicopter overhead? It’s different as hell.”
“You’ll have to keep me updated on everything while I’m away.”
“Like I could keep that shit to myself,” she says as she starts the car, “It’s gonna be shit not having you here to watch it all.” She’s silent for a moment and glances over at him, “Speaking of uh… keeping shit to myself.”
Oh, right. This conversation.
At least this time he doesn’t have to suffer heart failure from what she’s going to say.
“Maybe I shouldn’t tell you this while we’re driving, but…” Debra shakes her head, “I found another CI Dad was sleeping with. A woman named Laura Moser. Does that name mean anything to you?”
“Should it?” he asks, trying to look as clueless about it as possible.
“It doesn’t?” she glances over to him as she pulls up to a red light, “She died. But she left behind two little boys…” she turns fully now to look at him directly, “And one of those little boys was you.” He lifts his brows as she finishes, “Laura Moser was your biological mother. The other little boy, your brother, was named Brian. Brian Moser. The Ice Truck Killer.”
She presses her lips together and curses under her breath when the light changes and she starts off again, clutching tightly onto the steering wheel, “I wasn’t gonna tell you. But after seeing Trinity’s family I thought that it’s better for you to know the truth.”
She’s always been so supportive of him, even from the start of this all. And he’s been supportive of her. Of all the scenarios of Rita’s deaths, she’s always been there for him. She might not understand the full truth of who he really is but at least in this, he knows he’s safe. He knows she hasn’t put it all together.
“Do you think he knew about me?”
“I dunno.”
And even though he doesn’t have to, he wants to comfort his sister the way he did the first time.
“He must’ve glommed onto you as a way to get to me,” he says, reaching out to cover her hand with his and she takes it, “It wasn’t your fault, Deb. He wasn’t your fault.”
Debra starts crying and he nervously helps her guide the steering wheel. It’s slow at first, just some heavy breathing and a tear slipping down her cheek, and then she sobs.
“Thank you,” she says, her hair falling in her face, “Fuck, I don’t know if I could’ve gone through any of that shit without you, Dex.” She squeezes his hand and looks at him, “I’m here for you. If you… need to talk about that shitbag fuckhead. I’m here to talk.”
“I’d… like that,” he says.
After all, it would be nice to have someone to talk to about his mother, even if it is in a contained sort of way. At least with that, he’ll have more of a head’s up if she ever learns more. He can pretend to learn other things with her, or steer her in a different direction if she ever gets close again like this.
Debra smiles, letting out a low breath as she collects herself, smiling through her tears, “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
She nearly crashes the car, almost slamming into the little Kia beside them as she looks at him again, her eyes bugging out.
Fortunately, they get back to the station in one piece.
Debra heads in to interrogation and Dexter finally takes his phone from his pocket and calls Rita.
Even hearing her voice isn’t enough for his nerves to come back down. As the day progresses, he realizes just how much his mental state is riding on today being the one. The last Sunday.
They check-in late at the hotel and aren’t able to do a lot of sight-seeing when they get there, on account of both of them being unusually tense, neither of them even having appetites. He can tell that Rita’s picking up his mood, even though he’s trying to be optimistic.
At a point, she reaches over the dinner table and takes his hand.
“Worried about tomorrow?” she asks, lifting her brows, “Or, should I say, today?”
He smiles tightly and hums.
“We’ll figure it out together,” Rita says, and he can tell she’s trying to assure him, trying to ease his mind about it, “Whatever happens, even if it repeats, we’ll… we’ll work together. Just talk to me and we’ll work through it one day at a time.”
He takes her hand in and presses his lips to her fingers, “That’s the problem.” She lifts her brows so he continues, “If this doesn’t work… I’m out of suggestions.”
“On what to do differently?” she asks and he nods. She folds her napkin once she’s taken her hand back, trying to take another bite of her food, “There’s one I can think of. But, well… I hope it won’t come to that.”
His eyes narrow, “What?”
Rita smiles, “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
“What if you don’t remember?” he asks and her smile grows.
She leans over the table and kisses him on the lips, sitting back down in her seat, “I guess you’ll have to tell me everything, so I’ll remember again.”
Dexter watches her.
He’s seen Rita happy in the past. He thought he’d seen her the happiest he could ever see her, but the way she smiles now, with this spark in her eye that wasn’t there before… it’s unlike anything he’s seen before. She knows the truth about him, his deepest truth, and her smile has only gotten brighter.
He starts to open his mouth but stops himself.
Tomorrow.
If there’s a tomorrow, he’ll tell her then. But for now, he can hope for it while preparing for the worst.
Getting to sleep was the hardest part of the day.
He’s not often afraid of things. Fear isn’t a feeling he’s very familiar with. But he fears waking back up in the bed at the house tomorrow morning.
Sleep is restless at first, and when he finally falls into it, waking back up is like pulling himself up through the deepest ocean. Like one of his cast offs rising back up to the surface.
Dexter blinks and then he sits up, looking around the hotel room, and then he looks back down to the bed to see Rita there, still asleep at his side.
He lays back, turning onto his side and reaching out to her, brushing her hair from her cheek.
Her eyes flutter open and then she smiles, leaning into him and covering the back of his hand, “Hey. Looks like it’s Monday.”
“And you…” he clears his throat to stop his voice from cracking any more than it already has, “You’re…”
“Alive?” she asks, smirking.
“And you-”
She nods, “I remember.” Rita shifts closer to him, lacing her fingers with his, “Is that… okay?” he nods, feeling numb from his bottom lip down. She smiles, “You don’t regret telling me?”
“I’m glad you know,” he says and he’s relieved to know that it’s the truth. He didn’t really know that he’d feel that way today, but all he feels is… happy. “I could’ve reset the day again, but I…” he sighs, shaking his head, “I don’t want to hurt you ever again. Knowing the truth is more important to me. I’d rather you know the truth than lose you or hurt you. Even if not by my hands, but by someone like Arthur Mitchell.”
Rita smiles and presses a kiss to his cheek, pulling him in and wrapping her arms around him, “Me too,” she says, dragging her nails through his hair, “I’m glad you didn’t do that. I’m glad I know.”
“I love you.”
He’s already said it to Debra, but he wants Rita to know as well. Even though she probably already knows, he wants to have finally said the words.
Rita’s hand falters in its movements and then she pulls back to look him in the eyes. The look on her face is something he can’t put into words. Shocked. Concerned. Happy. Sad. But most of all, he can see his own feelings reflected back.
“I love you too,” she says and leans in to kiss him. “I never… wanted to push,” she admits as she holds his face in her hands and touches her forehead to his, “I didn’t need to hear them. I knew you loved me, I just…”
She stops and shakes and he touches her elbow.
“I knew it wasn’t easy for you,” Rita says, wiping her cheeks, “Maybe… because of what happened to you. Deb always said it was just something you didn’t say back. I didn’t…” she shakes her head and smiles, laughing, “Maybe it’s silly of me, but I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Dexter wipes her tears with his thumbs, “Emotions in general aren’t really… easy for me,” he says and she giggles, “For the longest time, I didn’t know I could feel them at all. Harry helped me control my urges, but he-” he looks away distantly, saying out loud what he’d normally say in his head, “He told me I was a monster. That I was a psychopath. That I didn’t have emotions. And, for most of my life, I’ve believed him.”
He finally looks back to see the stunned, hurt look on his wife’s face.
“He told you that?” Rita says, blinking the tears from her eyes, her brows narrowing.
“He told me that if I ever told anyone the truth about me, that they’d hate me.”
Rita sits back, her shoulders tense, her lips in a thin line. He’s thankful that, as far as he can tell, that anger isn’t aimed at him. Her eyes narrow, “You listen to me, Dexter. I don’t care how much he helped you through what you were struggling with, he was wrong about that. You’re not a monster.” She hurriedly wipes a fresh tear from her cheek, “There’s… monstrous parts of us. No one is ever perfect. What matters is what we do with that side of us.”
“I kill people.”
She laughs.
Dexter smirks back. He kind of likes being able to say his thoughts out loud. He’s never been comfortable doing that before. But he can say something like ‘I kill people’ and his wife… is laughing.
Rita moves her hands up his arms, staring him in the eyes with that same look of love in them like she did when she comforted him… before she ever knew the truth. She still loves him just the same, if not more than before.
“Bad people,” she says, caressing his cheek as she leans in to kiss him again, “You’re not a monster. You’re a good man. A good person.”
Dexter searches her eyes, “I want to stop.”
Rita lets out a lot hum, resting her arms on his shoulders, “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I’ll help you,” she says, still smiling, “But don’t do that for me. Don’t make yourself do it if you think it’ll make me feel better. I love and accept you for who you are, every part of you. I don’t want you to try and force that change just because I know the truth. So… don’t do that for me.”
Dexter searches her face, trying to read her intentions. He’s never really been good at that, but she seems sincere.
“Are you sure?” he asks, just in case.
Rita kisses him, “I’m sure.”
She kisses him again and then she gets up, heading over to the crib to get Harrison when he starts making a fuss. Dexter watches her bring him back to bed, holding him close as she settles back in with him.
He wraps his arms around her, breathing in the scent of her hair, her skin, reaching up to rest his palm on Harrison’s back.
And then he remembers something.
“What was the other suggestion?” he asks and she hums, turning to look back up at him.
“Oh,” she huffs and shakes her head, “It wasn’t a good one. I’m just glad what you did this last time worked.”
Dexter lifts a brow.
“It was…” Rita rolls her eyes, “Letting him go.” Dexter frowns and she nods, giving him a look, “I know. I don’t like the idea of that either. But I wasn’t sure what you were going through was trying to tell you.”
“You think it was trying to tell me something?” he asks, “Teach me something?”
She shrugs, “Maybe?” and then she shakes her head, “If it was, then what does letting The Trinity Killer get caught by your sister feel like, as a lesson?”
Dexter hums and lays back, staring up at the ceiling, “Following the Code.”
“Harry’s Code?” Rita asks, “Don’t get caught,” she says, “Never kill an innocent. Targets must be ones that have been able to slip under the radar.” It’s chilling to hear her speak the words herself, remembering what he told her yesterday. “Killing should serve a purpose. What part of killing Arthur isn’t part of the Code?”
“Deb was onto Trinity,” he says, “I had tampered with evidence to stop her from finding him directly. If I’d followed Harry’s Code, he would’ve been caught sooner.”
“You can’t know that for sure.”
He nods, “Maybe not. But I hindered the investigation.”
“Was this the first time you’ve done that?” she asks and he shamefully shakes his head, “But you think it’s the most egregious?”
Yes.
“Yes,” he says nervously.
Rita hums thoughtfully, “How do you think it would be if you followed it exactly from now on?”
“Less,” Dexter says, “Less often.”
He feels her fingers on his arm, soothing motions up and down as she quietly thinks. And then she turns and presses a kiss to his jaw.
“How about, instead of trying to stop killing completely,” she starts and he looks at her in surprising, “You… start to follow the Code closer? That sounds like a healthy compromise.” Dexter hums in agreement. “We could put together a better Code. Something that fits better now that you know more. Now that you have a family.”
He chuckles, “Rita’s Code?”
“Dexter’s Code?” she suggests and he turns when his cellphone starts to ring.
He reaches out to answer it, “Hello?”
“Dexter, it’s Maura,” he hears from the other end, “I’m sorry if I woke you but I have got two very excited kids here and Rita’s not answering.”
He looks over to Rita, “Where’s your phone?”
She giggles, “I’m so sorry. It must’ve died in my purse. I completely forgot about it last night when we came in.”
“Rita forgot to charge it,” Dexter says, “Everything okay?”
“Yes, everything’s fine,” Maura says, “Somebody just really wants to talk with you-”
“Dexter!” he hears Cody next and Dexter shifts the phone to be between them so Rita can hear the conversation better.
“Hey Cody. How’s Disney World?”
Cody answers at once, his voice fully of energy, “We’ve been having the best day! I had cotton candy for breakfast!”
Rita looks over to him, her eyes wide.
“Here, give me the phone. Gimme, gimme,” he hears Astor say, then her voice closer when she talks into the phone, “Hey Dexter, can I talk to mom?”
“I’m here, sweetie,” Rita says nervously, frowning, “What’s this I hear about cotton candy for breakfast?”
“You’re in trouble,” Astor says, clearly talking to Cody, then back to Rita, “I ate a real breakfast, but these two let Cody do whatever he wants.”
Rita huffs, this knot forming between her brows as she keeps herself calm, “Well… make sure he has something real in his stomach for lunch or he’ll be sick.”
Astor chuckles, “Alright, I’ll make sure he eats something. I just… I wanted to say that I miss you.”
“Miss you too, Dexter! And Harrison!” Cody shouts through the phone.
Astor laughs, “Here’s my grandmother.”
“They’re having a good time,” Maura says, laughing as well, “How’s everything been on your end?”
Rita smiles and looks to Dexter, “Perfect. Thank you two for doing this, I can tell the kids are having a lot of fun.”
“Any time! We’ll see you tonight.”
Dexter ends the call for her and sets the cellphone on the nightstand.
“I can’t believe she’s letting him have cotton candy instead of real food,” Rita says, getting out of bed, “You know how moody Cody gets when he hasn’t had breakfast.”
“Oh, I do.”
Rita walks over to the crib, setting Harrison down so she can start getting dressed, “I can’t believe I trusted them to take care of the kids. I should’ve given them… some rules or something.”
Dexter gets up and comes in behind her, wrapping his arms around her and feeling her lean back into his arms, “It’s just today.” She hums but he can tell she’s still mad. “Today could’ve been a lot worse.”
Rita turns in his arms and looks up at him, and then she sighs and nods, “You’re right.” She takes a deep breath, “You’re right.” She grabs his arms, moving her hands down them, and then she looks back up at him, her eyes welling with tears, “Because of you, they still have their mother.”
He hadn’t actually been thinking of that. He’d been thinking of one of them having a broken arm, or getting lost in the theme park. But… if this day had gone the way it was supposed to go, he would’ve had to answer that call alone.
Rita smiles, “Thank you.”
He doesn’t feel like she should be thanking him.
“Thank you,” he corrects her, tucking a loose strand of her hair back from her face, “For everything.”
“Any time,” she says, leaning up to kiss him.
For the first time in a long time, he doesn’t know what the day ahead will bring. But he’s looking forward to it. Especially knowing that she’ll be here with him.