Two blissful hours later, they emerged, refreshed and famished.

Willie had procured food, a simple meal that Camila set about feeding Isaac.

He protested weakly, his voice laced with amusement, "I can manage, you know."

Unfazed, she simply replied, "Consider it a privilege."

Morrison perished - a wretched, torturous demise, his body desecrated.

Laura, consumed by fear for her child's safety, had made the agonizing decision to send her away.

Morrison's funeral was a somber affair, attended only by a handful of colleagues and the heartbroken Laura.

Devastated by the loss of her husband and the absence of her child, a single, burning desire took root in Laura's heart: vengeance.

Guilt gnawed at her.

Had they not argued, maybe Morrison wouldn't have rushed back to work.

Maybe the undercover mission would have waited.

Her constant neglect had driven him to seek solace in dangerous assignments.

Now, he was gone, his identity exposed, his death a horrific consequence.

A wave of despair crashed over her.

They were supposed to be a family, yet she had unwittingly denied him even the chance at fatherhood.

If he had married someone else, they at least would have had a child.

But no, he had chosen her, and now he was gone, childless.

She apologized to his spirit.

The police station disapproved.

"You're untrained, a woman. You'll be putting yourself at risk. You're his wife. We..."