If you saw Travis for the first time, you probably wouldn't trust him either.

He was thirty-six, six-foot-four, broad-shouldered, covered in tattoos from his wrists to his shoulders, and almost always dressed in black. His hair was usually tied back, and he had the kind of serious expression that made strangers instinctively give him a little extra space.

He played bass in a local rock band, rode an old motorcycle, and had a voice that sounded permanently annoyed even when he was asking something as simple as, "Need a hand?"

But I'd known Travis for years.

And I knew the man underneath the appearance.

He was the person who had fixed my first car when I couldn't afford a mechanic.

He was the neighbor who showed up with a shovel after my father died and spent nearly two hours clearing snow from my driveway without asking for anything in return.

When a pipe burst in our basement one winter, Travis was the first person over.

When my husband was stuck across town during a storm, Travis came over to check whether we needed anything.

He had never asked for money.

He had never expected praise.

He simply helped.

My seven-year-old daughter, Emma, adored him.

My husband, Ryan, absolutely hated the fact.

At first, I thought Ryan was merely being protective.

Eventually, I realized there was something much deeper underneath his suspicion.

Something he wasn't even willing to admit to himself.

It all started with a simple change in my work schedule.

And somehow, that tiny change would force our entire family to confront something we'd been avoiding for a long time.

Chapter 2: The Three O'Clock Problem

Emma's school ended at three.

For years, my schedule had allowed me to pick her up myself.

I'd work from home during the morning, drive to school shortly before dismissal, bring her home, make her a snack, and finish whatever work remained afterward.

It wasn't always easy, but it worked.

Then my department changed.

Suddenly, I had to be in the office several afternoons a week.

My new supervisor was understanding, but the job simply couldn't be done remotely anymore.

Ryan worked across town.

His commute was long enough that getting home by three was impossible.

We needed someone reliable.

One evening, Ryan suggested his sister, Melissa.

"She can do it," he said.

I looked at him.

"Melissa?"

"Yeah."

"I love your sister."

"So?"

"So she's late to everything."

"Not everything."

"She once arrived forty-five minutes late to Thanksgiving."

"Traffic."

"She lived eight minutes away."

Ryan laughed.

But I wasn't joking.

Melissa was wonderful, but punctuality wasn't exactly her greatest strength.

There was also the horror movie incident.

One afternoon, Melissa had babysat Emma.

Emma had apparently convinced her that she was "old enough" to watch a scary movie.

Melissa believed her.

For the next four nights, Emma refused to sleep in her own room.

Then she became terrified of balloons because, according to her, "they move when nobody touches them."

So, as much as I loved Melissa, I wasn't convinced.

Still, we had few alternatives.

Then one afternoon, while I was standing beside my car, talking to my mother on the phone about the childcare problem, Travis overheard me.

He leaned over the fence separating our houses.

"What time does she get out?"

"Three."

He nodded.

"My band practices at two-thirty nearby."

I looked at him.

"Okay?"

"I can walk her home."

I laughed.

"You?"

"What?"

"Picking up a seven-year-old?"

He looked down at his tattoos.

"You're right."

He pretended to think.

"I'll wear a tiara."

I laughed.

"Please don't."

"Pink one?"

"Definitely not."

"Fine. I'll settle for a cape."

The joke made me smile.

But then he became serious.

"I'm serious. If you need help, I'll do it."

I thought about it.

He was already someone Emma knew.

He lived thirty seconds away.

And, more importantly, Emma trusted him.

So we arranged everything properly.

The school copied his identification.

I completed the paperwork.

His name was officially added to Emma's pickup list.

And for Emma, it was the greatest thing that had ever happened.

For Ryan?

It was the beginning of a problem.