******Trigger Warning*** The following is a violent story of an assault and its aftermath. Proceed at your own risk.***
It had been four months since my husband died. I don’t remember much of those four months. I had been living in a haze since the moment Captain Frank, who was like a father to me and my husband, stood on my doorstep and told me Sam had gone MIA. Which, with the cartel he was working on, meant he was dead and buried somewhere in the desert. We had a funeral with an empty casket. Everything was taken care of by the department since Sam and I had no one to call family other than the precinct. Nolan Winters, my husband’s partner, had supported me throughout these months.
He brought food and groceries. He took care of the house and payments. He was a bit older than my husband and unmarried. Other than my colleagues at the hospital, he was my only friend. The captain and the officers never showed up once to talk with me after the funeral. So much for family. The first couple of months, I was catatonic. I had taken an extended leave at the hospital and Nolan showed up every day after his shift with food and we would have dinner together. Then, I had to start going back to work. They didn’t care. Two months was more than enough pity period in their book and without Sam, I had bills to pay.