My name is Ethan Miller, and before that morning, I believed the worst thing a man could feel was fear.
I was wrong.
There is something worse than fear.
It is understanding that you placed the people you loved most in the hands of someone you trusted, and that trust turned into the weapon.
I lived in a working-class suburb in Ohio where every house had the same narrow driveway, the same worn patch of lawn, and the same porch lights that stayed on too long after sunset.
I worked as a warehouse supervisor for a construction supply company.
It was not glamorous, but it was reliable.
I knew inventory sheets, delayed shipments, forklift schedules, broken pallets, angry contractors, and the exact sound a man makes when he is trying not to admit he is afraid of losing his job.
My wife, Emily, carried none of that hardness.
