He was methodical as he doused the cloths in gasoline and strategically placed them throughout the room. Gwen had accused him of many things before throwing him out of this very room, not the least of which had been being reckless and thoughtless. He wouldn't be either of these tonight. He had gone through this in his head more times than he cared to count and each time, the outcome seemed more logical.

He was everything he hadn't been before. He was informed and ready, prepared and capable. It was a painless way to go – the fire didn't get you, the smoke would and doing it here would significantly reduce the suspicion of suicide. He didn't really want to die. He just didn't want to live this life anymore. The gun had simply been a safety net. In case he failed in his endeavor as he had a habit of doing recently. He couldn't walk out of here alive … not again, not alone.

One final look around the room and he knew he was finished there. There was much more to do, many more rooms to visit. He grabbed the bag and walked towards the door, his breath catching as he headed towards the stairs. It was then that he saw the shadow pass across the wall. For a moment, he thought he'd imagined it. So many nights, he'd watched as Gwen had held Maxton in her arms and walked him back and forth in that den. Perhaps he wanted so badly to believe she was here that his own mind was conjuring the image and yet even as he thought it, he knew it wasn't true.

Cameron stood totally still and completely silent as he waited, his heart pounded in his chest until her wide eyes finally settled on him.

She looked at him and then at the door. Before she could make it to the hallway, he had descended the stairs, taking them three at the time, and made it to the space in front of her. His hands gripped her wrist, tight, but not painfully so.

"What do you want?" She fought not to sound afraid. The bravado she claimed had vanished almost instantly when she'd come face to face with him and in this moment, all she wanted, was to get out, to find Nick, to be in his arms.

He could see it all over her face, the fear, the anxiety, the desire to be anywhere but close to him. "I don't want to hurt you. You weren't supposed to be here." The words came out with almost no emotion. Somehow he had managed to mess up even this.

"I live here," she managed defensively. "Nick and I live here and he's on his way, so you should go because if he finds you here, he's going to …"

"I'm not going anywhere. This is my house. This wouldn't even be a house if it weren't for me. He took it … just came and ripped it out from under me like it was nothing, like it meant nothing." His voice shook as he remembered the moment the realization had hit. Things had been on a downhill slide for a long time, far longer than Gwen knew and he'd done everything he could to fix things, to keep them afloat, but after a while, the bottom fell out. And then … it was like dominoes. First it was the job, then the luxuries that came with it – the cell phone, the company car, the expense account. Then it was the household bills, the cable, the lights, his son's tuition, and of course, the mortgage.

He'd come home from another soul sucking day of job searches to find Gwen on the front porch with tears streaming down her face. She'd said nothing, her eyes screaming far more than her mouth ever would. She'd glared at him one final time before shoving the foreclosure notice into his hands. He'd never been more ashamed of anything.

"I don't understand."

The sound of her voice brought him back to the present. "I wouldn't expect you to." Somehow the sight of her made him angry even though he had no way of knowing if she had anything to do with any of it. "Do you know that this house belonged to a family? To a husband and a wife and a little boy? Do you know that people built this house? That it was their dream? That it was supposed to be the house they lived in for the rest of their lives?" The volume of his words steadily increased as his anger did and he found himself screaming into her now frightened face as she stepped away from him.

"Look." She held up her hands in the small space that now separated them, desperate to calm him somehow. "I don't know anything about any of what you're talking about. I just moved in here with Nick and … Maybe you're confused. Maybe this isn't the house you think it is. Maybe …"

"You don't think I know my own damn house!" He screamed the words as he grabbed her shoulders tight. She drew in a breath, a result of fear more than pain and instantly braced herself, not sure of what to expect from the sudden outburst of anger.

Cameron dropped his hands, the shame he'd felt when his wife had thrown the notice at him now being challenged. He'd never done a thing like this before. "This is my house," he repeated, deliberately taking a step back and lowering his voice. "You don't belong here."

He watched as she considered his words. "That smell," she whispered. "I smelled it in the garage. What did you …" Her eyes widened a bit as her mind slowly linked the pieces together. "Oh God …"

He stopped, his entire body stiffening as he rushed to the window that overlooked the front yard. His eyes darted back to look at her. "You called the police?"

She swallowed hard. "You're in my house. What did you expect me to do?"

It was too late now. The die had been cast. "I'm going to live the rest of my life in this house," Cameron said again. "And apparently, so are you …"