Officer Luke Cole started his morning shift leaving and looking into the rearview mirror from his blue and gold state police car. He was surprised to see his wife standing in the driveway in her bathrobe pulled tight enough to constrict her breathing. There'd hardly been a whisper or hiss between them after sunrise. She watched him, as if his shift would take him to the dark side of the moon where all communication would be lost. His chest tightened, as he gripped the wheel and lost sight of her in the montage of manicured homes.

It was Luke's job that kept him from getting sucked into a black hole of no return. His only daughter, Taylor had died at seven chasing a soccer ball between parked cars in front of his home. He replayed the scene a thousand times over the years-unable to resurrect her.

Taylor Cole had wanted to play for the U.S. Women's soccer team someday. Her room had posters of her favorite players. Her mousy brown hair sported a ponytail like the players she idolized. Luke's neighbor was driving back from the hardware store. He hadn't seen her until it was too late. He'd been showing off his sports car, low to the ground red convertible--a real killing machine. It hit her with the right front corner of his car, throwing her back against a parked car where she laid like a ragdoll.

Cole's legs churned, as if treading in setting concrete until he reached her. He gathered up her limp and bruised body. He threw open the back door to his cruiser.

Luke's wife, Sharon raced outside, jumped in the backseat where he placed Taylor in her arms. Burning rubber, running stops signs, and lights flashing, he dodged cars until he skidded and slid in front of the emergency doors to the hospital.

Luke carried Taylor's body inside, her ponytail brushing the floor. A doctor checked her vitals and shook his head. They put her on a gurney. Minutes later, she was declared dead. Luke fell to his knees. His wife crumbled beside him.

After the blur of tears and sleepless nights, their marriage didn't look the same. He lived with a weight of guilt, enough to sink their marriage over time. They went through counseling where Luke told the therapist she was right to blame him. His wife's silence summed it up. Afterall, he was in the business of saving others, but couldn't save his own daughter.

Luke tried to make the marriage work, tried to convince his wife to have another child, but it only made her despise him more. He suggested they move, but that enraged her. Taylor's room was a shrine, frozen in time. Another child meant shelving their daughter's memories. Moving meant trying to forget her altogether.

***

Every morning, Luke would stop at Dunkin Donuts in the small hamlet of Adams, in upstate NY, near his state police station. He'd been predictable to a fault, but unseen to others, he'd been unraveling from the inside, neurotransmitters sparking dark thoughts, snapping inside his brain. Like Mt. Saint Helen's the danger could not be seen from the outside, unless you got a good look inside and could see the red glow and feel the heat. Small warning signs maybe, a tremor here and there. His lonesome patrols gave him space, places to vent.

Beth Page recognized officer Cole while working the drive thru. As a twenty-something single mom, she was shielded from an abusive husband and escorted to Vera House under Luke Cole's direction. Her maple eyes shined. "Morning, Officer Cole."

She handed him his black coffee with two sugars, just the way he liked it. As always, he went for his billfold, but once again she waved him off. "Your money's no good here. You should know that by now."

"If you say so. I should have a small fortune by now." She smiled or blushed. He couldn't tell. "Thanks, Beth."

"Just save a life today. No pressure."

"You all settled in that apartment?"

"Yes, and my son Toby loves it!"

Luke nodded with a notch of satisfaction. "Someday that boy will grow up to take good care of you."

Beth looked back at someone inside and turned pale. "I've got something else here I was told... to...to give you." She shoved a thick manilla envelope through the window. It made a crunching sound until Luke held it in his hands.

"What's this all about Beth?" He asked, as he placed it on the front seat.

She looked nervous. "Not sure." She looked over at the fat black man wearing a tan leather jacket, sipping his coffee with an apple fritter in his hand. Then he smiled with pearly-white teeth. It was like he'd done it enough times not to be intimidated by anyone--not even the law.

Beth's blood drained face said enough. "I'm so sorry, I...I didn't have to do it, did I?"

A mushroom cloud formed in Luke's mind. "How clever," he said to himself. It made sense. His wife Sharon and her lawyer, no doubt hatched the plan, and there was no better place to trick him. "Don't sweat it Beth. We all have our jobs to do." But inside, he boiled and couldn't hold his poker face much longer. He wanted to crawl under his skin.

Luke put the car in drive and jerked ahead, coffee sloshing through his sip hole. His radio squawked in third person, as he parked across into an open spot against a line of bushes. Tears pushed against the backs of his eyes. He fingered the packet until the seam ripped and his stomach knotted.

It was more than Luke expected. He read the large print first, then leafed through it. He noticed first the file order of divorce, but then something else caught his tortured eyes as he flipped pages. It was an order of protection. He was no longer allowed within five hundred feet of his own house!

Luke had been holding his breath, suffocating his heart. He let go until his lungs filled again. A rogue tear rode down his cheek. He'd never cried on duty. He learned how to tuck things inside, even when he found the lifeless body of a swollen boy on the rocks of Black River.

He'd never hurt his wife in all those years, never gave her cause for a restraining order. It was to him the worst kind of betrayal. Even after all they'd been through, he could have accepted an affair without her having to fear him, because he would have blamed himself for his chronic coldness and lack of comfort after the loss of their daughter. His marriage was now officially declared dead.

As he looked up in the rearview mirror, the confident black man strolled out the door and gave Luke a smug look. Luke pulled away, but not before narrowly backing into the man's legs where he could have snapped them like twigs.

As he drove from the parking lot, Luke counted his losses: his wife, his home, and all that was left of his family. His spotless record on the force seemed vulnerable. The fuel of his thoughts found a flashpoint in his mind, igniting dark thoughts. He'd sacrificed everything for his precious reputation on the force.

Someone out there should feel his pain. Someone needed to feel his pain.