Gray seemed surprised to see his half-brother, Aaron, in the visitation area. Even prison hadn't diminished his debonair demeanor; he remained utterly shameless.

"I didn't think you were coming this month," Gray said slyly.

Aaron sighed as he sat down. "My father-in-law died. Things were a bit chaotic at home."

"I'm so sorry to hear that. He was a good man."

The sentiment, though offered many times since Robert's passing, grated on Aaron. It was likely Gray's tone. No matter how many visits he made, Aaron couldn't bring himself to like the insincere creep.

He kept his true feelings to himself, a skill honed over years. Gray seemed oblivious.

Aaron often wondered what kind of relationship he expected with Gray upon his release. He certainly wasn't welcoming a murderer into his home.

His children didn't know they were related to two murderers. Aaron wanted to shield them from that knowledge, to protect their sense of normalcy. Alistair was deceased, and the children, except Violet, had never met him. Gray, however, posed a problem. Would he stay away from his niece and nephews?

Aaron was prepared to sever ties, despite years of cultivating a relationship with this ticking time bomb, to protect his children. They'd never discussed Gray's release.

Aaron had the unsettling feeling Gray was merely biding his time. Despite nearly twenty years of imprisonment, he looked much as he had before—a little paler, his dark hair now completely gray, but still styled, unlike the other inmates' limp locks.

Gray looked remarkably good for a fifty-year-old who'd spent so long in prison. This fueled Aaron's suspicion. Other inmates radiated defeat, but Gray never had, not even initially.

Prison's monotonous routine usually affected people. Gray's casualness about his imprisonment suggested something more. But how much trouble could someone cause under such intense surveillance?

"Thank you," Aaron replied neutrally. "I'll pass your sympathy on to Keeley."

"How is she handling it?" Gray asked. "They were quite close, if I remember correctly."

"Much better now that the funeral is over."

It had been a rough week for the Hale family. Everyone cried constantly; Aaron, the least emotional, held it together for the others.

Life continued, however. While Robert's death felt like the end of the world, responsibilities remained. Dealing with those responsibilities had barely kept him alive after Keeley's death.

Watching Robert's coffin lowered into the family grave was difficult. The last time he'd seen that was his wife's funeral. Holding Keeley as they watched helped remind him he wasn't reliving his worst nightmare, but it was still hard, especially with her crying. Robert’s death was natural, but Aaron suspected Keeley struggled with memories of past losses.

Keeley had experienced much death. Losing her father again proved you never truly get used to it.

Aaron sincerely hoped Keeley wouldn't experience further loss. He didn't want to die first and leave her alone again. Ideally, they'd pass together, like in that sentimental movie Violet loved—the wife with Alzheimer's, remembering her husband only when he recounted their love story, dying hand-in-hand.

Though he hoped Keeley wouldn't develop Alzheimer's, given her family history (her grandmother and father had succumbed to it).

Why was he thinking such morbid thoughts? They were relatively young, with time left. Such thoughts only worsened his mood.

"Aaron? Earth to Aaron," Gray said lightly.

Aaron shook his head, refocusing. He needed to pay attention.

"Sorry, I was thinking about my father-in-law. What were you saying?"

"I was asking how your children are handling it."

"Not great," Aaron admitted. "They were very close to their grandfather."

"Well, it's good they were close to one, since their other grandfather was completely useless."

Gray said it lightly, but venom underlay the words. He still hated Alistair Hale, even in death. It was a justifiable hatred; you never stopped loathing those who took your most important person.

Aaron understood perfectly. Two lifetimes later, he still hadn't fully released his anger toward deceased enemies.

His family helped. Most of the time, he forgot what he and Keeley had suffered. But occasionally, the anger resurfaced.

He tried to appreciate his hard-won happiness. Usually it worked. But his parents' deaths were difficult; he felt their deaths were too easy. They should have suffered more.

Though Keeley had changed him for the better, he remained a Hale, sharing blood with Alistair and Gray, both capable of murder. He'd refrained from violence toward Lacy Knighton for Keeley's sake, but the inclination had been there.

The universe had granted him happiness, but that didn't make him good. If Lacy had pushed him further…if Gray hadn't gotten to her first…he might be the one in prison.

The final sentence of the original passage, which appeared to be an advertisement, has been removed.