The moment we'd stepped over the threshold of mum's house, I knew I'd done right in asking Jo if she wanted to stay here while I go to the station. I'd called mum and told her about the situation, and she immediately insisted that Jo and Daisy would come to her, without me even asking.

When we arrived, Mercy opened the door. She didn't say anything; she just opened her arms and waited for Jo if she'd take the invitation. And to my surprise, she did. It stung, the fact that she is hesitant with me while she has no problem in hugging my sister, but I also felt the slight relief that she allowed herself to seek comfort.

Jo and I haven't talked much. After we'd finally stood from the floor, she left to take a shower and get dressed while I waited for her to be done. Daisy was sleeping which was perfect. At least she didn't hear or feel all the tension and pain.

When Jo was done, she walked into the living room with clothes for Daisy in her hand. Again without saying anything but a soft, "I guess I'll go shower now," I left her and Daisy on the couch.

In the shower, I was alone with my feelings at last. I first took a cold one, hoping it would subside the anger which unfortunately didn't happen. I then turned it painfully hot, hoping that it would fix my thoughts and give me some kind of plan to stick by, but again it didn't.

After five minutes I gave up, accepting the fact that the rage would probably never come remotely close to bearable. I slipt into my room and got dressed, deciding it would be a good idea to put on my uniform. I don't exactly know why I did that, but I feel strong and comfortable in it which I know I'm gonna need. Also, I hope that it will keep me in check and remind me of protocol at all costs, even when I'm facing him.

When I returned to the living room about twenty minutes later, Jo was holding a dressed Daisy in her arms. Jo was staring, her foot mindlessly bobbing up and down while she looked at something nonexistent in front of her.

She hadn't even heard me come in, and when I cleared my throat to make myself known, she jumped slightly which confirmed how far away she was. However, when her face turned and she met my form, I saw her eyes widen at the look of me in uniform. It was brief, but for a second I know she thought back to the night Daisy was born, and I could see her shoulders relax slightly as if she was relieved that I took this situation serious enough to put on my work gear.

Another ten minutes after that, we left. We got into Felix's car, which made me realize that I've been lacking enormously when it comes to my friends. It's all because I've been consumed with Jo, and I loved it, truly. But a very small, soft voice is starting to question if this is a healthy situation. For both of us.

She needs to find comfort and faith in other people, and she needs help way beyond the help that I can offer her. This morning was only proof of that. And then there's me. I'm so caught up in this situation that I'm ready to kill. All I can think about is torturing him, and even though fuck knows he deserves that, it's not who I am. It's not who I want to be. And it's not why I became a police officer in the first place.

The ride to mum's was silent. We didn't speak, and as if Daisy felt the tension that consumed the small space, she cried the entire ride. She never cries while we drive, and it made me feel guilty as fuck. Daisy shouldn't feel anything of what is happening.

And now, as we sit in mum's living room, the same tension is building. It's awkward because none of us seem to know how to react or what to say. Do we completely ignore that the bastard is just a few miles away from us, locked up? Do we talk about it and risk that Jo has a breakdown all over again? Do we small talk and pretend that nothing's happened?

Mum's sitting in the chair, a cup of tea in her hand while she blows over the rim. I know that her tea isn't hot anymore, it can't be. Mercy is sitting next to Jo on the sofa. Jo is leaning against the backrest, Mercy is sitting up straight. Their hands are clasped together, but it feels distant as they both look at the floor.

And I'm sitting on the other sofa, Daisy laying in my arms. She's wide awake, and even though she hasn't been crying for a good fifteen minutes, sobs still shock through her tiny body every few seconds.

She's holding my thumb, and when I look down, I find her eyes on me. I smile because that's just the reaction she gets out of me no matter what, and in reaction, she nestles against me a little more. Of course, I'm imagining it because a newborn would never, but the thought is soothing and relaxes my tensed body slightly.

"I need to go." I eventually break the silence, both because I can't bear it any longer and because I can't wait to go and talk to Hanson.

Jo's head is the first one that shoots up, and when her eyes meet mine, the fear behind them is once again clear as day. It's slightly different though, because I think that she's fearing for me more now that she feels she's safe here.

"That's okay, love," mum says while placing her cold tea on the coffee table. "Will you be here for dinner?"

I throw a glance at the clock that's hanging on the wall, noting that it's almost twelve now. "I'm hoping to be back, but I'll throw a text if I'm not."

Mum nods and gives me a small, reassuring smile, and I take it as my cue to stand from the sofa. I walk to Jo, whose eyes follow every movement. They widen a little when she sees I'm walking towards her, and only when I bend down and hand her Daisy, she averts her gaze to look at her daughter.

"I'm going then," I say once more, my eyes on Jo and her reaction. I'm not sure what I expect, but the fact that she hardly reacts or doesn't even greet me doesn't sit well.

"Good luck," Mercy pipes up from next to Jo, pulling my gaze away from the two girls that have turned my world upside down in just a few days.

I nod in thanks. "Will do. See you later." With one last look at Jo, whose eyes stay on Daisy, I turn and kiss my mum's head before walking out of the living area and into the hallway.

I'm not sure how to feel. I'm uncertain of Jo's behavior at this moment. What does she want? Is she mad at me because I'm going to the station? Is she still afraid that whatever I will hear will change the way I see her? Has she realized that it's all going too fast and is she now backing out?

When I'm at the front door, I put on my jacket -the one that Daisy was wrapped in just seconds after she was born, and then bend to put on my shoes. I'd took them off when I entered because my work shoes are heavy and I know mum doesn't like shoes in her house. Just when I'm lacing the laces of my right shoe, I feel a soft, hesitant tab on my shoulder.

I turn around and look up, and find Jo standing there. Her hands are nervously fidgeting with the hem of her sweater and her lower lip is pulled between her teeth. For a moment I think she regrets that she tapped my shoulder because she looks out of place.

"Hi, you okay?" I ask, my voice tentative and low. I rise to my full height and her eyes follow my face so that she's eventually looking up at me. She doesn't react to my question outside of giving me a small, almost invisible nod.

I nod once in return, not sure what to say or do. I don't know why she is here, and given how we've been acting around each other the last hour or two, makes this even more loaded and weird.

And just when I think that she's about to turn around and walk away in hopes we both forget she was even here, she surprises me by stepping to me and throwing her arms around my neck. I feel her rise to her toes, and then she brings her body flush against mine while her face presses against my chest.

Relief washes over me at the contact, and to prevent her from pulling away too soon, I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her against me even more. As a result, I end up lifting her so she is high enough to bury her face in the crook of my neck.

I bow my head and press my nose in her hair, inhaling deeply and savoring her scent. She calms me, and after the fucked up morning we had, I'm so happy that she's allowing me to hold her like this.

"Be careful," she whispers, her warm breath fanning my neck, making me shiver as I press her against me even tighter.

I kiss her hair and then pull back slightly so I can look at her. She pulls her head back as well, her eyes tired and in the corners a little wet still, even though I don't think that's because she's emotional now. "I will," I promise her, giving her a small smile to cut the tension.

I slowly let her slide down so she's standing on the floor again, and when her feet are steady on the ground, she bows her head again and rests her forehead against my sternum. I kiss her head again, and then whisper, "I really have to go."

She sighs and pulls back again, nodding her head slowly. "Try to relax," I tell her, and for a very short moment, I see her roll her eyes. It's unexpected but I like it. "I'll try not to be away long," I continue, ignoring her eye-roll.

"We'll be here," she says which makes me smile.

If only she meant it as cheeky as it sounded in my head.

As I'm walking through the long hallway that leads to Hanson's office, the rushed feeling that was gone when Jo was in my arms crashes back in full force. Knowing that he is here, within the same four walls as me, is pumping me up.

As I pass multiple doors that lead to interrogation units, offices, and another hall with temporary cells. The moment I pass that door, it takes everything in me not to open the door and visit him. Instead, I focus on the colleagues that I pass, greeting them as I make my way to Hanson's office.

I knock on his door, and he permits me after a short silence. When I open the door, I find him behind his desk. His desk is covered in papers, and the glasses on his nose -that he only wears for reading- tell me he was busy. In his hand, he's holding a yellow marker, and on the pages in front of him, the yellow lines are almost covering every line of text.

When I throw the door shut behind me, he finally looks up from his papers, and when he sees it's me, he yanks his glasses from his nose. "Hero, I was wondering when you'd show up."

"Sir," I say in greeting, nodding my head. I then walk to his desk and pull one of the chairs across from him backward so I can take a seat. "Is he here?"

Hanson nods. "He is. The team is questioning him for about two hours now."

I take a deep breath, willing to control all the feelings that wake upon hearing those words. "Where did you find him?" I demand, but Hanson doesn't seem surprised.

"Bristol," he responds, giving it to me straight. "The team found him after they'd observed the house he grew up in for a week. The team first saw a woman in and around the house, but eventually, they got a glimpse of him as well."

Bristol. That fucking asshole got some nerve. I at least expected him to leave the country after what he did, but he has the courtesy to move only a couple of hours away while Jo was fighting for her life and that of her baby. "Did he put up a fight?"

Hanson takes a sip of his coffee which he seems to need to figure out how he's going to explain his next words. "He was very surprised. So surprised in fact, that he didn't even try to run away. He acted as if he had no idea why we were there. The woman that was with him, turned out to be his girlfriend with whom he has a long-distance relationship for about two years now. She also turned out to be the owner of the house that he grew up in."

"What the fuck?" I take another deep breath, steadying myself once more so I don't sprint out of this office. "Did she know?"

Hanson shakes his head. "For now, we don't think so. She was just as surprised as he was, and she said that he always visited her once a month during the weekends. He would stay for two nights, before leaving on Sunday to return to London. This was the first time that he insisted on staying longer. She's not a suspect for now, but she is here too, so we can take her statement."

My neck is sweating and my breathing is going faster with every tug of air I take. Once a month, for two nights. He left her alone. In that dirty fucking dump.

And how the hell did this woman didn't know that he kept a pregnant girl in his apartment in London? And how the hell did Jo get there in the first place? And how long has she been there?

"What's he saying now? How's he handling being questioned?" I ask after I've somewhat collected my thoughts. I need more answers, and it annoys the fuck out of me that Hanson isn't giving me any.

"He's not speaking. He insisted on not talking unless his lawyer is present," Hanson says, his expression changing slightly which tells me he's more involved in this case than I've seen him with other cases.

"I swear to God, I'll punch the answer out of him," I growl, slamming my fist on the desk to lose some of the anger that's been raging through my veins for too long now. Hanson doesn't even flinch, no doubt because he felt the anger that is radiating from me even before I came into his office.

"As you know, we've searched his apartment without any luck of finding anything that tells us more about the girl," Hanson continues, wisely ignoring my outburst. "But he had some documents in his possession when we arrested him."

For a moment the rage is replaced by curiosity, and Hanson seems to notice my shift as he rummages through all the papers on his desk until he's found a file. "Copies of the documents are in here. I figured that you wanted to have a look."

I take the file from his outstretched hand and look at the label that's printed on the front. Case 736. Somehow that stops me from opening the file right away.

This is not just Case 736. This is Jo. This is information about who Jo is. Maybe even information that Jo doesn't even know of herself.

Sensing my hesitation, Hanson stands from his chair before grabbing his coffee cup from the table. "I'm getting another one. Can I get you anything?"

I dismissively shake my head without averting my eyes from the file in front of me. In the corner of my eyes, I see him nod before he walks to the door. When I hear it shut behind me, I know I'm alone.

I take a deep breath and go over my options. Do I want to read the information that's in here or do I want Jo to tell me this herself? Does she even know the information that's in here, or hasn't she told me anything about who she is because she simply doesn't know? Do I want her to see this, and if yes, do I want to be there when she does?

But what if this is information that I should know so I can see if it's something that Jo needs to know? I feel the need to protect her from anything that might cause a breakdown, and this might very well be information that's breakdown worthy.

But I don't want to keep anything from her.

Fuck, what the hell do I do?

After going back and forth for a good minute, my curiosity wins the battle, and with shaking fingers I open the file.

The first copy is one of a passport. An Australian passport. The picture on the passport is the first thing I notice. It's a young girl, probably around the age of two or three. Her eyes shoot a shock straight through me and I feel the nausea rise for the hundredth time today. Even though the image is black and white, I'd recognize those eyes from miles away. The little girl in the picture is Jo.

My thoughts are confirmed when I look at the personal information. Josephine Langford, born on August eighteenth, in the year 1997. Place of birth; Perth, Australia. The document is transpired, but as far as I can tell given what I'm seeing on the copy, it hasn't been used much.

I put the first copy aside and look at the second one, which is his passport. His photo matches my thoughts of him to a T, and just one look at it makes me want to tear this place apart until it's just me and him.

His hair is grey and short, a matching colored trimmed mustache covering the space between his upper lip and nose. He isn't wearing glasses, and from what I can see, he isn't as chubby as I thought; he's quite skinny. His cheekbones are pointy and his lips are thin.

I slam the file closed, not able to look at his disgusting face any longer. The worst thing about his picture is without a doubt the fact that he looks like a decent man. If you don't know what he did, he'd even look friendly.

It's fucking disgusting.

"What do you think?" Hanson asks as he passes me to take a seat behind his desk once more. I hadn't even heard the door which only shows how consumed I was with what I was reading.

"I think he is a disgusting fucking pig and I think it's best if I stay clear of him because I'll kill him." The words are out without thinking, but they are describing my feelings at the moment perfectly.

Hanson frowns and folds his hands in front of him. "It sounds like you know more than that file entails."

Fuck. Of course, I wouldn't get this worked up by just seeing two passports.

When I don't respond fast enough, Hanson pipes up once more. "Listen, Hero, I once again want to talk about the importance of the victim's statement."

I fight the urge to roll my eyes and lean against the backrest of my chair. "I'm not forcing her to do anything. She's been forced to do shit her whole Goddamn life, Hanson. I'll never do that to her."

"And I'm not asking you to do so. But the suspect isn't talking, and if I were to estimate him, I doubt that he will any time soon. The team only knows what we found in his apartment, along with the documents we found on him, and what you and Dwight told us about that night you found Josephine. We have a case regarding that, but we want him behind bars for the rest of his life. We can make this case solid if Josephine talks." Hanson's tone isn't necessarily pushing me, but he's definitely urgently advising.

And I know that he is right. Jo's story is hers to tell, not that fucking cunt's. He can twist his statement in a way that's advantageous for him, and I know that, even though she's never spoken about that, she wouldn't want him to get away with what he did.

And by testifying against him, Jo maybe gains confidence and some kind of revenge as well. She needs closure, and in my eyes, the only way to that is with him convicted and locked up for life.

"I'll try to talk to her about it," I reluctantly give in. "But I'm not promising anything. If she doesn't want to, then that's her call."

Hanson seems happy with this answer, as he nods his head. "That's all I ask." He then scans my face for a brief moment before asking, "how is she doing?"

I sigh and rub my face, knowing that the answer to that is complicated as fuck. "She seemingly was doing better until she heard that we have him. I only know a small part of what he did, but it's fucked up, chef. He's scarred her for life."

Hanson lets out a breath, his hands that are still clasped in front of him, turning white. "I figured after I read about the crime scene. Is she getting help?"

"Tomorrow is her first therapy session. She's not looking forward to it," I answer. It's almost funny how that is an understatement since she's hating the idea, but I decide not to tell Hanson that.