Elizabeth shuffled her feet in discomfort, her arms wrapped protectively against herself.

I wanted to say so much, explain, but figured today I’d pushed my luck about as far as it would go.

“Goodbye, Elizabeth,” I said softly.

Her face contorted, twisted in agony as she chewed on her trembling lower lip. I hated that I made her feel this way.

Rushed with the urge to comfort her, I reached out, sooner than I had the chance to think better of it. Wide-eyed with shock, she reeled back. My eyes grew as wide as hers did when I realized what I’d done.

Then she jumped in her car and sped away.

Out of breath, I tied off what felt like the thousandth bal oon I’d blown up today. Not surprising, they were pink. Al of them.

Strong hands came to rest on my shoulders while soothing fingers massaged in an attempt to chase away the tightness in my muscles. “Are you doing okay, Liz?” I shrugged against his hands, glancing over my shoulder at Matthew. What was I going to say? That I was okay? Because I wasn’t. Nothing seemed worse than Christian invading the safety of my home. Sympathetic eyes promised he understood.

Real y, I didn’t know how I was going to make it through today. Watching Christian interact with Lizzie last Saturday had been nothing less than excruciating. I’d prayed that he just wouldn’t show up, ending the whole thing quickly, instead of dragging the inevitable out.

Of course, he came.

Hearing Lizzie cal him Daddy had broken my heart al over again, and hearing him agree had made me want to spit in his face. I couldn’t watch as Lizzie snuggled up to him, how he wrapped his arm around her, how he looked at her. I’d spent most of the time studying greasy fingerprints on the wal , fighting against the urge to grab my daughter and run out the door, and reminding myself that this was the lesser of two evils.

Then the bastard thanked me as if I’d given him a gift and denied that he would have taken me to court. So typical, he’d played the good guy after he’d gotten what he wanted. I’d decided right there that I was going to end this. I wouldn’t al ow him to play games with me or with my daughter.

That plan was squelched when Lizzie had invited him to her birthday party. What was I supposed to do? Refuse my daughter? Her face held more hope than I’d ever seen.

I’d searched for an excuse, a reason for him not to come, certain he wouldn’t sacrifice two Saturday afternoons in a row for a child that he didn’t even know, a child that I refused to believe he cared anything about.

And since nothing ever goes my way, he’d countered, saying he had no plans. Lizzie was thril ed and had jumped straight into his arms.

The moment that fol owed had nearly ruined me, almost unable to bear what was taking place. I’d wanted to turn away but couldn’t as Lizzie buried herself in his arms, her words muffled though clear. She told him she loved him, and he’d returned the affection. His tears almost made me question my resolve, the sincerity of his whispered thank-you.

Then when he’d stood before me, I’d almost broken down, the questions that had swirled in my head the entire time fighting release from my mouth.

How could you?

Did you think of me? Did you think of our child?

Why didn’t you love me enough?

Did you even love me at al ?

Why now, after so many years?

And in that second, I wanted to know why he was looking at me as if he wanted me.

His move to touch me had shocked me back into my reality. Dangerous. I had been there before, and I knew that if I al owed him to speak, to explain, I would so easily fal prey to his deceit. I would believe, and believing in Christian Davison again would be the most foolish move I could ever make.

“Hey, Liz, where do you want this?” Mom stood in the doorway between the living room and kitchen, holding up the heart-shaped piñata she had fil ed with candy and little goodies for the kids.

“Um . . . I think Matthew has a rope set up for it outside.” I glanced at him, and he nodded, already walking her way.

“I’l take care of that, Linda.”

“Thanks.” She handed it to him, and Matthew disappeared through the sliding glass door to the backyard. Mom lingered, watching me as I gathered the last bunch of bal oons to take outside to finish off the decorations.

“You okay?” Mom’s voice was deep with concern, her face etched with the kind of worry only a mother could feel.

I smiled sadly at her. Mom and I were very close and shared most everything. She knew how deeply Christian had wounded me, and there was no one who understood it as wel as she did. My own father had left her for another woman, leaving her alone to raise three little girls. He’d just disappeared in the middle of the night from our lives forever.

“I’l be okay, Mom.”

She searched my face, not believing my answer. It was as if she could sense every fear I had. “You’d better go upstairs and finish getting Lizzie ready. It’s nearly two-thirty.

I’l help them finish up outside.” She tilted her head toward the ceiling, breaking the intense moment we’d shared.

I nodded and started up the stairs. Lizzie’s laugh floating down to me lightened my mood. Her cousins were obviously very successful in entertaining her while the rest of us prepared for her party. My family was so supportive, and I couldn’t be more grateful. Happily giving up an entire Saturday for us, everyone had shown up first thing this morning to set up.

Al three children were on Lizzie’s bedroom floor.

Lizzie and her cousin, Maggie, who was just a year older, were listening intently as Maggie’s older brother, Brandon, read them a story. It was so adorable.

I watched them for a couple of minutes before interrupting. “Hey, Lizzie. It’s time to get dressed. Your guests wil be coming soon.”

She jumped up, squealing and running around in circles in her room. “Yay!” She was wound up tight, but I could only grin because of her excitement. I pul ed her princess dress from her closet, and she squealed again when she saw it, clapping her hands wildly.

“Oh, Mommy, I’m gonna be so pretty!”

Maggie and Brandon left the room, and I helped Lizzie into the pink, fril y dress, which was real y a dress-up costume, one she’d seen at the toy store and had fal en in love with. It was a bit out of my price range, but I’d set aside a little over the last month and surprised her with it after I’d gotten home from work last night.

“You are the prettiest princess I’ve ever seen,” I said with a smile, kissing her nose. She giggled, and twirled in front of the ful -length mirror on the back of her door. I pinned the plastic tiara in her hair, and she stepped into the little satin slippers.

My princess.

“Thank-you, Momma.” Her voice was soft and fil ed with appreciation and love as she looked at me. She was the most amazing child.

I hugged her tightly before sitting back and holding her smal hands in mine. “You are so welcome, sweetheart.

Happy birthday.” I wasn’t surprised to find tears in my eyes.

I was feeling very emotional, both saddened and joyed that my baby girl was turning five, not to mention the intense strain Christian had placed in my life. Lizzie reached out, catching a tear with her finger.

“Don’t be sad, Mommy.”

I shook my head, vehement. “No, baby. These are happy tears.” She’d seen me cry so much lately, and I refused to al ow another emotional breakdown to affect her day.

“Come on. Let’s go see your surprise.” I stood, holding my hand out to her. She took it, my assurance enough to erase the concern I had caused in her. Her feet were anxious as she dragged me down the stairs.

Lizzie froze the moment she stepped outside, her face alight in awe. “Oh, Momma,” she whispered as she slowly took in our smal backyard that had been transformed into her kingdom for the day. Matthew had rented a huge white tent that covered the entire yard from the end of the patio to the wal , the kind normal y reserved for weddings. Hundreds of pink bal oons hung from it, covering the entire underside.

Silver streamers curled out from them, glinting and shining in the afternoon sun. Natalie and my little sister, Carrie, had painted a mural they’d attached along the back wal with a scene depicting a white castle surrounded by rol ing green hil s scattered with white unicorns. A few tables sat under the patio, covered in pink tablecloths, each centered with a different fairy tale princess surrounded by fresh-cut flowers.

My older sister, Sarah, had volunteered to make a cake, and the huge 3-D princess cake sat proudly on a table that was pushed up against the wal .

Her face glowed. “Thank-you, Mommy.” She looked up at me from where she stood at my side, her hand stil firmly in mine.

I gestured with my head to the rest of our family who had gathered in front of us, each of them eagerly awaiting her reaction. “It wasn’t just me, Lizzie. They did this for you.” Never would I have been able to do this without them. They were so good to my daughter, so good to me, and I loved them more than the world.

Lizzie shot forward, hugging and kissing each of them, giggling and blushing as everyone claimed that she was the most beautiful princess they’d ever seen. I gazed upon my family, silently thanking them for everything they’d done.

Their eyes swam with affection, holding the promise that they wanted it no other way.

They’d never viewed us a burden, even though sometimes I felt that way.

Lizzie’s eyes grew wide in excitement with the sound of the doorbel , while mine grew wide with alarm.

“It’s party time!” Natalie sang, swooping in to take Lizzie into her arms and spinning her in an exaggerated dance as they disappeared into the house to answer the door.

Nervously, I ran my hand over my face and through my hair in a vain attempt to calm myself.

Sarah appeared at my side, nudging my shoulder.

“Relax.”

I suppressed a snort.

How could I relax when I had to welcome Christian into my home, the one who had wounded me deeper than anyone, the one who haunted my days and held me in my dreams?

Impossible.

The worst part of it al was, somewhere deep inside me, I knew that al owing him here today was official y inviting him into our lives.

Anticipation stirred, pushing me forward.

Yeah, I was nervous and unable to imagine how an afternoon spent with Elizabeth’s family could turn out pleasant, but I didn’t care. Seeing my daughter again, sharing her birthday with her were the only things that mattered.

Last Saturday had been the most important day of my life—wonderful, perfect, and entirely horrifying—but the most important. Standing in the middle of the McDonald’s parking lot and watching the tail ights of Elizabeth’s car disappear, I’d been hit with so many emotions, and I couldn’t discern them al . For the first time I real y understood what I’d missed. I hadn’t been there when my child was born, had no idea what she looked like as a baby, hadn’t witnessed her first steps, her first words. I’d missed birthdays and holidays, years of love, and certainly plenty of heartache. I missed Elizabeth.

God, I missed Elizabeth.

Sleep eluded me that night as I dealt with the anger; al of it directed at me. Lizzie had undone me that day, and once she’d loosed the regret that I’d kept bottled inside for years, I could not hold it back any longer. My soul mourned for what it had lost, for every day I had lived without them, for every moment wasted, for time that could not be reclaimed. I’d buried my face in my pil ow as I thought of Elizabeth and the pain I had caused her and what she must have felt.

Shame.

I’d felt it before, but that night it devoured me. By the time the sun broke through the night, I’d accepted that I could never do anything to erase those mistakes. They had marred our lives, sending them on a course they never should have gone. The only power I had was in today, and I was determined to live every day for Lizzie and Elizabeth.

Even if Elizabeth never forgave me, I would live for her.

That didn’t mean I’d forgotten what my mother had told me. Elizabeth needed time to deal with my return, time to figure out where I would fit into their lives.

I started by asking for seven fifteen.

When I cal ed at seven fifteen on Sunday evening, Elizabeth had answered, sounding irritated, icy.

But at least she’d answered. I’d take what I could get.

I’d only offered a quick unreturned hi and asked if I I’d only offered a quick unreturned hi and asked if I could speak with Lizzie to ask her what she wanted for her birthday. As strong as the urge was to apologize again and try to talk to Elizabeth, I’d realized my words were never going to mean anything to her until I showed her I real y meant them.

Of course, I wanted to know what Lizzie wanted for her birthday, but it was real y just an excuse to cal . The disquiet I’d felt the entire day in her absence was put to ease with the sound of her voice, giggling as she sang hi, Daddy into the phone, her words a warm embrace. When I’d cal ed the next day at the same time, Elizabeth had seemed just as irritated but maybe less surprised. By the third night, Lizzie answered, squealing Daddy into the phone.

The amount of love that surged through me each time I heard her voice was shocking, more than I’d ever imagined possible.

I spent those cal s listening to her, learning her, knowing her. Through them, I also gleaned information about Elizabeth, smal tidbits that answered some of my questions and others that only gave rise to more. I never asked, but whatever Lizzie offered, I was al too happy to accept.

Seven fifteen Lizzie could count on, whether I was alone on the balcony of my condo, staring out at the bay, or if it drew me from a board meeting—it was our time.

My breath caught in my throat when I turned onto their street and saw the number of cars lining it. Pink bal oons tied to a mailbox flapped in the breeze, confirmation for partygoers that they had come to the right place. A shaky feeling swept through me when I stepped from my car and heard the sounds of playing children and adult conversations coming from Elizabeth’s backyard. I pul ed the four presents from the trunk of my car and attempted to balance them with one hand while I swept the other hand through my hair in another vain attempt to calm myself.

Ringing the doorbel , I felt my chest tighten with excitement and dread.

I shifted uncomfortably while I waited unsure of who I would face first. When the door swung open, I looked around the stack of presents I had balanced in front of me.

The smile on the woman’s face melted into a hardened scowl. I recognized her as Sarah, Elizabeth’s older sister, though I’d only seen her in pictures. The two bore a remarkable resemblance. The only difference was the five years and probable twenty pounds Sarah had over Elizabeth, though neither of those things made her any less attractive.

I offered a feeble smile.

She narrowed her eyes and stepped back against the wal . She crossed her arms over her chest and al owed me inside without a welcome.

I grimaced and dropped my eyes to the floor as I stepped over the threshold.

This was going to be uncomfortable.

“Everyone’s out back,” she mumbled.

I offered a meek thank-you that remained unreturned.

Shifting the packages in my arms, I took in my surroundings and grinned.

Elizabeth.

The place screamed it. It was warm and cluttered and messy.

In the middle of the room sat a cozy brown couch with fuzzy blankets draped over the back and large pil ows thrown randomly against it. A toy box overflowed, spil ing toys out onto the carpet. Framed pictures sat on every shelf and table, mingled with the books on the large bookshelf in the corner, and covered the wal s that led upstairs.

I wanted to study each one to discover Lizzie at every age. Instead, I forced myself to fol ow the noise from the backyard. I walked through smal living room and the archway that led into the kitchen. A sliding glass door sat wide open to the party happening just outside.

I took a deep breath, tried to convince myself I could do this, and stepped through the doorway.

“Daddy!” Lizzie screamed over the roaring volume of voices.

Silence washed over the gathering. Guests trailed off mid-sentence as they turned to look, or rather, glare at me

—everyone except the precious child who threw herself around my leg, hugging me. I smiled at her, dropping to my knee to pul her into a one-armed hug as I continued to balance the packages in the other. I nearly melted when I saw what she wore.

“Hi, sweetheart.” I kissed her dark, silken hair, careful to avoid the adorable tiara she wore. “Happy birthday.”

“I’m so happy you came, Daddy.” For a moment, I forgot she was a five-year-old child. There was so much emotion in her words and maturity in her tone as if my presence was a validation of trust and she understood my heart. I could only pray she did.

“Me too,” I said to reassure, hugging her to me again.

“Me too.” I patted her back before releasing her. She grinned and then raced to rejoin the group of children running and playing on the grass.

Me too.

Even if it meant enduring the quiet hostility that had settled over the smal group of adults in Elizabeth’s backyard, it was worth it. They stood straighter, backs rigid, taking a protective stance. I didn’t even want to begin to imagine what these people thought about me, though I couldn’t blame them. If our positions had been reversed, I was sure I would feel exactly the same way.

Averting my gaze, I busied myself by searching for the gift table. I placed the packages on it, stal ing a moment before I turned back to face the awkwardness of the situation.

Everyone had returned to their conversations, though they now spoke in hushed, low whispers that I could only assume had much to do with me. Palpable tension clung to the air, the festivity dampened by my presence.

I warred against the need to justify myself to these people, to explain my intentions, and to apologize. Words meant nothing, I reminded myself. I had to earn that forgiveness, and that forgiveness could real y only come through one person—Elizabeth.

through one person—Elizabeth.

She’d ignored my arrival. Her back was turned to me as she spoke quietly to a couple I didn’t recognize, and she acted as if she hadn’t noticed the shift in the mood—

pretended it meant nothing—that I meant nothing.

I found reprieve in a plastic chair at the far corner of the yard where I sank out of view and watched Lizzie play. She ran in and out of the house, the children playing a game of chase, al of them squealing and laughing as they moved in a pack. I leaned my elbows on my knees, straining to get a better look as they wove through tables, chairs, and in between the adults where they stood talking.

Lizzie’s face glowed, happiness pouring from her as she raced around the yard.

So beautiful.

My child.

Never had I imagined that loving someone could hurt so much.

I did my best to keep from staring at Elizabeth, but there were times I couldn’t help but search for her, to watch as she chatted with her family and friends, her hands animated and her laugh free, pure honey, thick and warm—

sweet.

When she’d feel the intensity of my eyes upon her, she would immediately tense, but she stil never turned to meet my gaze.

So wrapped up in the woman in front of me, I jumped when the chair beside me shifted.

Shit.

Matthew.

He sat back, and from a distance, he would have appeared calm, though I knew he was anything but. His jaw twitched from muscles held taut in restraint. What felt like an hour passed as we sat in silence, neither acknowledging the other while tension ricocheted between us.

When at last he spoke, his voice was low, indignant.

His nostrils flared as he forced heavy, control ed breaths through his nose. “You’ve got a lot of fuckin’ nerve, man.” Stiffening, I fought off the instinct to become defensive.

The group of children came barreling back outside, al of them chasing Lizzie who laughed harder than I’d ever seen.

I watched her, al owing her to remind me of why I was here and relaxing as that knowledge soothed me, calmed me.

Matthew laughed, cynical and sarcastic when he caught me staring at Lizzie. “Did you know you almost got your way?” Matthew gestured to her with his head as she ran by.

His statement tore my attention from Lizzie. “What?”

“You have no idea what Elizabeth went through while you went on living your cushy little life, do you?” He pressed his clenched fists into his thighs, his anger barely constrained. “How she struggled every day, how she sacrificed . . . how she almost lost that child because of what you did.”

Al the blood drained from my face. I felt lightheaded, faint with visions of Elizabeth suffering, the idea of Lizzie not being a part of this world a sick delusion.

And I had wanted it, demanded it.

I gripped the back of my neck, struck by searing guilt.

“And now she final y has her life together, and you waltz back into it like it’s your God-given right,” Matthew said with a tone that held a hint of a growl, each word delivering a blow directly to my gut.

But I took it, deserved it—needed it. I needed to know what I’d done.

Elizabeth’s laughter carried in our direction. I looked at her, pained and sickened with the realization that I’d wronged her so severely. I was sure the surface of that wrong hadn’t even been scratched. It seemed that at every turn, I learned I’d only cut her deeper than I could have imagined.

So much for unfounded nobility, so much for the fairy tale I’d painted in my mind, one I now realized I’d conjured only to make myself feel better.

Matthew’s lip trembled as he swal owed and dug his fists deeper into his legs. “I don’t know what your game is, but you need to know I wil do whatever it takes to protect them. Do you understand what I’m tel ing you?”

“What do you want me to say, Matthew?” My voice came out raspy, regret laced with frustration. “That I’m sorry? Because I wil if it makes you feel better, but that’s not going to change anything that I did in the past.” He snapped, turning to me in what seemed to be disbelief. “You think I want an apology?” He shook his head, looking incredulous. “What I want is for you to stay out of their lives.”

“Wel , that’s not going to happen,” I retorted harder and faster than I’d anticipated. Matthew needed to understand that I was not playing some game and there was no way in hel he would keep me from Lizzie.

He narrowed his eyes. “If you real y care about them, you’l stay out of their lives.”

I wanted to laugh because he was feeding me the same bul shit line I’d fed myself for the last five years—to the day.

“I’m not going anywhere, Matthew.” I kept my voice low and determined, but free of contempt. Matthew might hate me, but he had been there when I hadn’t, and my daughter adored him. Without fail, Lizzie had mentioned him in every cal we’d shared this week. The bottom line was I respected him, and my actions had given him no reason to return the favor. I accepted that.

He hesitated, dubious, before his expression hardened and he stood to hover over me. “Hurt them, and I swear to God I’l make you pay for it.”

I saw his threat for what it was—a desperate attempt to protect two people he loved and a threat no sane man would ever make good on. I could have easily thrown it back in his face. Instead, I nodded in submissive understanding, knowing I’d never give him a reason to consider it. He bobbed his head, curt and with what seemed to be a sense of satisfaction, before he turned and joined the very young woman who I now knew to be his wife.

How Matthew had ended up with Elizabeth’s cousin remained a mystery. When Lizzie had gone on about her Uncle Maffew and Auntie Natalie, I’d burned with curiosity, wishing I could come right out and ask about it. Somehow, I knew Matthew and Elizabeth had been together, but for one reason or another had ended up only as friends—or whatever they were. Seeing Matthew and Elizabeth interact was like watching an overprotective brother worrying over a little sister.

I sank further into the chair and forced myself to relax while observing the people who were here because they loved my daughter. The yard was smal enough to overhear names. Some names I recognized from stories Elizabeth had told me, and I recognized some faces from pictures.

There were also the unknown, smal children and friends who had become a part of Elizabeth’s life after I’d left.

It had probably been close to seven years since I’d seen Linda, Elizabeth’s mother. Her face and hands were worn from years of hard work, but her eyes were gentle as she watched her family from where she sat on the patio under the awning. She’d always struck me as cautious, slow to trust, but having loved with everything she had when she did. To Elizabeth she’d been a hero, a rock.

Elizabeth’s older sister, Sarah, worked ceaselessly, flitting in and out of the kitchen with bowls of food while her husband, Greg, manned the barbecue. Their little sister, Carrie, stayed at Natalie’s side, the two in constant conversation, laughing and giggling with their elbows hooked as if they were the best of friends.

And then there was Elizabeth. It was useless to try to keep from watching her. I sensed her every move, so I final y gave up and gave in. My eyes trailed her as she mingled with her guests, her smile wide and gracious as she welcomed each one, thankful for their presence.

I knew she could feel me, conscious of watchful eyes.

Being near her stirred me—my love and guilt and desire—

emotions that left my heart heavy and my legs weak.

It hurt.

I had to remind myself that anything I felt now could only pale in comparison to what I had put Elizabeth through.

Self-pity would only serve to discount my own actions.

Knowing that wasn’t enough to stop the surge of jealousy I felt toward him—Scott. He was the same man who had told me to leave the bank that day I’d shown up at Elizabeth’s work, the one who I heard her cal out to as he stepped through her door, the one who continual y reached for her. They were light touches, smal caresses from hands that clearly wanted more. I found myself thanking God when she returned none of them, but put space between them in an almost indiscernible way, in a way likely only noticed by Scott and me.

It fil ed me with relief, which I realized only made me al the more pathetic, taking comfort in the hope that Elizabeth was alone.

I wondered if I could ever stop being a selfish asshole.

“Burgers are ready!” Greg made the announcement, and the smal group of people broke apart, fal ing into line with their smiles wide as they fil ed their plates.

The thought of a burger straight off a backyard gril made my mouth water, but I had no intention of eating. It would be far too uncomfortable to expect food when I wasn’t even welcome, though I shouldn’t have been surprised when Lizzie stood before me, her smal hands clutching a plate extended in offering.

“Are you hungry, Daddy?” Kind blue eyes looked up at me, perceptive and aware.

I gulped down the awe and nodded. “Thank-you, sweetheart.” She graced me in that same consuming smile when I accepted her gift, tiny teeth exposed, dimples drawn, leaving my heart in my throat as I watched her dance away and take her place at the smal children’s table.

I ate my meal in my sheltered corner, though not alone as I felt Lizzie’s spirit linger at my side. It was almost too much to be showered in her undeserved love.

Once the food had been eaten and plates set aside, Elizabeth, Natalie, and Carrie brought Lizzie’s gifts over and placed them around her on the grass. Lizzie bounced with excitement. In admiration, I watched as my five-year-old daughter took time to have her mother read each card to her. She opened her gifts careful y and thanked whomever she’d received it from. Her surprise was genuine as she unwrapped each one, never expecting anything, but gracious to have received it.

Elizabeth had raised the most incredible child, so humble, so appreciative.

Lizzie’s eyes went wide when she opened the largest box I’d given her. A doll. She’d asked for a dol , which had turned out to be a more difficult request than I’d ever imagined. There were hundreds of them at the store, and I’d been thankful when the young employee had helped me select one. The dol was lifelike, handmade, and had long black hair and blue eyes. As soon as the woman had shown it to me, I’d known it was perfect even though I’d had to pry my jaw off the floor when I’d found out how much it cost. The look on Lizzie’s face told me it was wel worth it.

She unwrapped the other gifts from me, each a different accessory for the dol , each a piece the saleswoman insisted she would love.

When the other boxes had been opened, Lizzie rose and raced across the lawn and into my lap, throwing her smal arms around my neck. “Thank-you, Daddy! I love her!” I held her to me, murmuring against her head. “You’re welcome, sweetheart. Happy birthday.”

She sat back, her smile so wide it stretched over her entire face.

My heart felt as if it would burst against my chest.

I would do anything to see that smile.

I reached out and pushed back a lock of hair that had fal en into her eyes, my smile soft. “I love you, precious girl.”

“I love you too, Daddy.”

She hugged me again, hard, and then scooted off my lap and ran to finish opening the rest of her gifts.

I lifted my head and caught everyone staring at me. Al of them were quick to avert their attention back to Lizzie who started to open the last of her presents—al except for Elizabeth’s mother. Her expression was unreadable but intense and probing. I shifted in discomfort. If there was one person here besides Elizabeth and Lizzie whom I’d let down, it was Linda. I would never forget the last time I’d seen her, when she’d pul ed me aside and made me promise her that I’d never break her daughter’s heart. In a heartbeat, I’d sworn that I never would.

When Lizzie had thanked everyone a final time for her gifts, Elizabeth announced it was time for cake. Everyone gathered around the table, including myself. Unable to resist, I pul ed out my phone and recorded Lizzie as she grinned ear to ear, her eyes darting around to the people who loved her as they sang “Happy Birthday.” She sucked in a deep breath before blowing out al five candles in one fel swoop while everyone clapped and cal ed out, “Make a wish.”

Elizabeth’s face was indescribable as she celebrated with her daughter, ful of life and so much love. I saw joy and no evidence of the pain I had caused her. I stared a beat too long, and Elizabeth caught my eye. Her happiness drained, despondency taking its place. Shame urged me to look away, but I held fast.For a moment we were caught in each other, verging on something familiar, longing obscured by years of separation.

She blinked rapidly, breaking our connection, her hand shaking as she took a knife to slice into Lizzie’s cake.

I coerced myself back to my corner while thick, pink pieces of cake were passed out on even pinker plates.

Natalie stopped in front of me, arm extended. “Cake?” I raised a brow, caught off guard before shrugging and accepting the smal plate. “Thanks.” I offered a very cautious smile.

Her smile was wide as she plopped into the chair her husband had occupied earlier.

My smile faded as I prepared for attack.

“So, how are you holding up?”

I frowned. Was she real y asking me how I was doing?

“Um?” was about al I could manage, confused.

She chuckled, the sound warm in her throat. “That bad, huh?”

I shook my head and laughed under my breath at the unexpected exchange. “Nah. I’m just thankful to be here.” She took a bite of cake and murmured, “Hmm.” I turned and tried to read her, to search for her intent.

Her face was soft, free of displeasure as warm, brown eyes smiled back at me.

In an instant, I was taken back six years to the tender sweetness of Elizabeth.

Kindness.

Natalie radiated it.

For a moment, I looked away and gathered my courage before turning back to her. “Listen, I’m real y sorry about what happened at the store a couple of weeks ago.” I winced at the memory, the blatant terror in her eyes when I’d faced her in the parking lot. I swal owed, needing to explain myself. “I just saw her . . . and . . . I knew.” I shook my head with regret. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” She grimaced but shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah, you scared the hel out of me. I love that little girl so much. I’d do anything to protect her.” She glanced at Lizzie and then back to me, her expression serious. “But now that I know who you are I . . .” She pressed her lips together as if she were debating what to say. “I get it.”

Did she real y understand?

She must have seen the desperation in my face, because sympathy fel across her own. “I believe you.”

“You believe . . . what?” I asked.

“That you love her . . . love them.” She motioned to where Lizzie and Elizabeth sat on the grass, sharing a piece of cake. She looked back at me, searching my face.

“You do, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “I do.”

She gave me a curt nod. “Good. Then don’t mess this up.”

I ran my hand through my hair, trying to make sense of this conversation. Two hours ago, her husband had al but threatened to kil me, and she seemed to be encouraging me. She grinned at my confusion, scooped her last piece of cake into her mouth, and hopped up. “See you around?” she prodded, her brow raised.

I nodded and repeated what I’d told her husband earlier. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Satisfaction spread across her face, and she extended her hand. Tentative, I reached out and shook it.

“Wel then, it’s nice to final y meet you, Christian Davison.” She breezed across the lawn, leaving me shaking my head, baffled to find such an unlikely al y, but thankful nonetheless.

The party wound down, and friends filtered out, saying their goodbyes and thank-yous.

I lingered.

I didn’t want to say goodbye.

When the last of Lizzie’s guests had left and only Matthew and Natalie remained, I reluctantly stood and made my way across the lawn. Lizzie sat in the grass playing with the dol I had given her.

I crouched down to run my hand through her soft hair. “I have to go now, sweetheart.”

Lizzie saddened. “Already?” Apparently, she didn’t want me to say goodbye either.

Smiling, I settled down in the grass next to her, pul ing her onto my lap and into my arms. I hugged her to me. “Yes, my angel, I have to go.”

She hugged me tighter, and from her mouth came a whispered plea. “Wil you come back?”

I choked on her fear.

I pul ed back, looking her in the eye. “Yes, Lizzie, I’l be back. I promise.” Glancing up, I caught Elizabeth watching us from inside the kitchen window, her wounds prominent in the lines across her forehead. “I promise,” I said again as I buried my face against the side of Lizzie’s head.

I had to force myself to stand, to turn my back, and to leave my little girl sitting in the middle of her yard. My feet were heavy as they entered the kitchen of the smal house.

My steps faltered when I came upon Elizabeth.

She stood with her back to me. Her hands were flat against the kitchen counter and her breathing was audible as she stared out at Lizzie through the window.

“Thank-you, Elizabeth,” I whispered.

She whimpered, her voice a quiet rasp, “Please, don’t hurt her.”

Al the air left me.

“I won’t.” Never.

Her body trembled as a quiet sob escaped. “What do you want, Christian?”

What did I want?

To make her smile, to wipe away her tears, to hold her.

To be a father, a real father, not one in title, but one who’d earned that right.

I wanted to stay.

“I want my family,” I forced through the lump in my throat.

Elizabeth went rigid, her hands digging into the counter for support, her words sharp. “Get out of my house.” I swal owed down my pain, the fear that I might never receive forgiveness, and nodded. “Okay,” I said quietly as I turned to leave. I hesitated in the archway, looking back over my shoulder. “But I’m coming back.”

Friday had always been a day I looked forward to, fil ed with anticipation for the weekend ahead and excitement for time spent with my daughter. Now it was a day of dread.

I glanced at the digital clock on the microwave. Only fifteen more minutes.

Plunging my hands into the soapy water, I tried to focus on the task in front of me instead of how much I hated this, but a mindless job like washing dishes wasn’t enough to cover up the ache in my heart.

Sharing my daughter was torture.

The day after Lizzie’s birthday, Christian had cal ed at seven fifteen just as he had every night the week before and every day since. He’d asked to speak to me after tel ing Lizzie goodbye. He wanted to know when he could see her next, and more specifical y, he wanted a day of his own.

The man had the audacity to ask me for Saturdays.

Saturdays were mine, a day without interruption for my daughter and me, just the two of us. There was no way I’d concede to that.

Instead, I’d given him Friday evenings.

So for the last two months, Christian had shown up at my doorstep every Friday at six to pick Lizzie up and had dropped her off at the same place at eight.

He had two hours. To me, even that was too much. He deserved no time at al .

The worst part of it was how much Lizzie always looked forward to those nights with Christian, how excited she would become as she watched the clock near six. She never questioned whether he would show or not; she expected him to, trusted him to.

And I was left waiting on the sidelines to pick up the pieces when he didn’t.

It sucked.

I loaded the dishwasher and wiped down the counters, preparing myself to face Christian. Just those few minutes at my stoop exchanging “our” daughter were excruciating.

Two minutes later, the doorbel rang.

Taking a deep breath, I dried my hands and tossed the hand towel aside, wending my way to the front door.

Glancing through the peephole, I unlocked the door and swung it wide to Lizzie and Christian standing on the stoop.

“Hi, Mommy.” Lizzie grinned up at me, her hair in pigtails and her eyes alive. She clutched her dol to her side, that outrageous toy that must have cost a fortune, the one she never went anywhere without.

“Hi, sweetheart.” I smiled down at her, refusing to begrudge the joy my daughter found in her father. “Did you have a good time?”

She glanced back at Christian and smiled wide before looking back at me and nodding. “Yep. Daddy took me to the park, and we had a picnic.”

I covered my grimace and forced out, “That sounds like fun, honey.” My eyes flitted to Christian. His hands were stuffed deep in the pockets of his slacks, his tie discarded, the first two buttons of his white dress shirt undone. His hair that had been styled when he’d shown up at my house earlier was now in disarray, locks of hair obscuring the vibrant blue of one of his eyes.

He was gorgeous. And I hated him for it.

I turned my attention back to Lizzie, gesturing to her father with my head. “It’s time to tel your dad goodnight, Lizzie.”

Her face fel along with my heart. It was agonizing, watching her tel Christian goodbye, how she clung to him, their whispered words of love and promises of how they would miss each other until they saw each other again.

Christian kissed her on the head once more before releasing his hold on her and nudging her toward the door.

“Goodnight, my princess.”

“Night, Daddy.”

I closed my eyes, wishing I didn’t have to witness this.

“Lizzie, go on upstairs. I’l be there in a minute to get your bath started.”

“Okay, Momma.” Lizzie mounted the stairs as Christian and I watched her go, and then I slowly turned back to him. This part always felt so awkward, especial y in light of the declaration he’d made on Lizzie’s birthday. I’d known what he meant, his intention.

He wanted me back.

I had spent a fleeting moment fantasizing about being in his arms again before my rational side had screamed at me for being a fool, and I had demanded that he leave my house. He’d never stepped inside since.

“Goodnight, Christian.” In his case, I’d given myself over to feigned pleasantries.

He stared at his feet before looking back at me as he ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit of his I hadn’t forgotten. “Listen, Elizabeth . . .”

I braced myself. This was it. My mind raced with what I would tel my daughter, how I would comfort her.

He scratched the back of his head, shuffling his feet before he grimaced and said in a rushed voice, “I need a favor.”

I scowled, sitting back on my heels and crossing my arms. He wasn’t leaving. He was asking for more. Damn him.

“What?”

He released a heavy breath from his nose, his expression hopeful. “My mother is coming into town next weekend, and I was hoping we could take Lizzie to Sea weekend, and I was hoping we could take Lizzie to Sea World on Saturday?”

I shook my head. “You know Saturday is my day with Lizzie, Christian. Why can’t you take her during the week?” As if I would make concessions for his mother, that shal ow, pretentious woman who’d done no more than look down her nose at me. And God knew Christian could afford to take the day off.

“Because my mom isn’t getting in until late Friday night, and she has to leave Sunday to get back to work. It’s the only day we can go,” he explained as if it made complete sense where it made none.

That woman had never worked a day in her life. I didn’t realize I was frowning in confusion until Christian spoke.

“Yes, Elizabeth, my mother works,” he said sounding mildly irritated. “She and my father divorced five years ago.”

“Real y?” I asked, surprised. The question had escaped me before I could reel it in. I don’t care about him or what his family does, I reminded myself. But real y, I was a little curious. Claire Davison working? The woman who put on airs, who walked around as if her social life were the most important thing in the world. The thought was comical.

Christian chuckled, his eyes glinting amusement.

“Shocking, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Why I answered, I didn’t know.

His voice softened. “She’s not who you think she is, Elizabeth.”

I shook my head wishing to divert the line of conversation that drew me into his personal life, getting back to what mattered—the precious time I had to spend with my daughter. “Saturdays are mine, Christian.” The words were soft, but firm.

He sighed and for a moment looked away before his eyes darted back at me, determined. “Come with us.” What? I couldn’t imagine anything as tortuous as spending an entire day with him and his mother.

He took a step forward, dipping his head to capture my gaze. “Please, Elizabeth.” My heart sped with his nearness, the warmth of his presence washing over my face and through my chest to where it settled somewhere in the pit of my stomach.

Dangerous.

“Um . . . I . . .” I fumbled over the words, searching for an excuse.

“Please, Elizabeth. Just one day.” His voice dropped lower as he begged, “Please . . . come.” The intensity of his eyes shattered my resolve. “Fine.” Gratitude fil ed his face, his mouth quirking into a smal , satisfied smile. “Thank-you.” His face was so beautiful and appeared so sincere. I wished I could believe it.

In an attempt to resurrect the wal between us, I stepped back and away from the claws that I felt him slowly, steadily sinking into my skin. I whispered, “Just this once.” His smile didn’t falter. “Okay then, I’l pick you two up at nine next Saturday.”

Pursing my lips, I nodded once before I shut the door and shut him out.

I turned to find Lizzie’s face pressed through two bars of railing at the top of the stairs, her smile unending.

Closing my eyes, I shook my head, wondering what I had just done.

Lizzie sat on her knees in a pink T-shirt and denim shorts, her feet in white sandals, watching out the front window. Her smal backpack was secured over her shoulders, her dol secured in the crook of her arm. She had been there for almost a half an hour, and it wasn’t even eight thirty yet.

She’d woken me before dawn by jumping on my bed, yel ing in excitement for me to get up. I’d buried my face deeper in my pil ow, loath to face the day.

Christian had picked her up yesterday evening at six just the same as always, only this time Lizzie accompanied him to the airport so she could meet her Grammy. That’s what Lizzie had cal ed her. She went on about the woman for more than an hour after Christian had dropped her off at my door wel after nine thirty last night.

Grammy.

The woman who had never shown any interest in Lizzie, had never cal ed, had never once tried to contact us.

Grammy.

It was enough to make me see red.

Dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, I stepped into a pair of flip-flops and pul ed my hair into a messy ponytail, then stuffed a towel, sunscreen, and sweatshirts into my backpack. Lizzie loved Sea World, and we’d been enough times to know she’d get wet and cold.

“Al ready, Mommy?” Lizzie looked back at me from where she was perched on the floor, her smal body buzzing with anticipation.

I forced myself to smile back. “Yes, baby. I’m al ready.” As much as I dreaded this day, I would never let Lizzie know it.

I flitted around the house, straightening up in an attempt to thwart the panic setting in. How will I get through a day with Christian . . . and his mother? She’d always disliked me. The few times we’d met she’d never said much, offering no more than a cool hel o, though her calculating eyes had watched. I could only assume the horrible things she thought about me, things Christian’s father had never hesitated to say aloud. Gold Digger, Richard had cal ed me, and she’d never disagreed. It had hurt. The only thing I’d ever wanted from Christian was his love, his commitment, but never his money.

Jumping up, Lizzie squealed, “Daddy’s here!” She struggled to reach the lock, unlatching it just as the doorbel rang. She threw herself into Christian’s open arms, and he scooped her up.

“Good morning, baby girl.” He looked over her shoulder at me as he hugged her close. “Good morning, Elizabeth.”

“Good morning,” I mumbled as I grabbed my backpack and purse and headed toward the door. Christian put Lizzie back on her feet and took her hand.

I swal owed hard, feeling my face heat with my thoughts.

I swore he was doing it on purpose, the way he wore his black T-shirt taut over the obvious definition of his chest and stomach, his dark jeans slung low on his hips. Forcing my eyes closed, I fought to remember what I felt when I’d left his apartment that final time, what he had said, opening them to remember why I hated this man. I squared my shoulders, and strode toward the door with my resolve firmly set in place.

As Christian and Lizzie walked hand-in-hand down the sidewalk, I locked the door, bracing myself for the anger I knew would come when I came face-to-face with Christian’s mother.

I took the ten steps down the sidewalk and froze when I rounded the corner to the driveway. Claire stood in front of Christian’s car with Lizzie in her arms, her face buried in Lizzie’s neck. Claire looked up, tears glistening in her eyes, a mixture of joy and pain on her face.

Instantly, a lump formed in my throat. How could she hold my daughter like that after she’d rejected her al these years? I didn’t understand this, any of it—Christian, his mother, how I felt, the sympathy that surged through me when I saw Claire’s face. I didn’t want to care.

With what seemed like great reluctance, Claire set Lizzie down. I stiffened as she approached me. Her hair had grayed, but shimmered in the tight ponytail she wore it in, her face virtual y unmarred from wrinkles; the few around her eyes and mouth were subtle and soft. Her eyes were just as blue as Christian’s, just as intense, just as warm.

She was beautiful, incredibly so, but in an entirely different way than I remembered. The conceit was gone, in its place a gentleness I’d never associated with this woman.

She stopped two feet away from me, seeming unsure.

Her bottom lip trembled when she said, “Thank-you, Elizabeth.” She stepped forward, grabbing my limp hand and squeezing it. “Thank-you.”

I shook my head in misunderstanding and took a smal step back. I was not sure whether I was wil ing to accept her thanks. Her mouth fel into a smal , sad smile, and she squeezed my hand again before she dropped it and turned away.

Christian was buckling Lizzie into a booster seat in the backseat on the driver’s side of his car, the two of them raving about how excited they were. Christian had never been to Sea World, and he deemed Lizzie his tour guide, tickling her as he made her promise to show him al of her favorite things. Claire laughed and joined in on their banter as she climbed into the front passenger seat.

Sucking in a deep breath, I forced myself to walk around to the opposite side of the car to take my place next to Lizzie. I slunk down into the black leather seats, feeling the most uncomfortable I’d ever felt in my life. I didn’t belong here. Lizzie didn’t belong here. We’d been thrown aside, and now here we were, giving ourselves over to Christian’s mercy. It was so wrong. How I wished I could take back the decision I’d made to al ow him to see Lizzie in the first place. He would have given up by now, and Lizzie and I would be living the quiet life I’d built for us, not waiting for the bottom to drop out of it.

In silence, I listened as Christian, Claire, and Lizzie chattered nonstop. Claire asked Lizzie countless questions about her life, what she liked, what she didn’t like. Claire sat sideways in her seat, her attention focused on my child and her son. The hardest to hear were the stories she told Lizzie of Christian when he was a child. Adoration radiated from her as she described a curious little boy, how inquisitive he had been and the trouble it had continual y gotten him in. Claire would reach out and caress Christian’s shoulder or his forearm and sometimes even held his hand.

I stared at them, unable to comprehend what was happening in front of me. It was as if she wasn’t even the same woman. The woman I had known, Christian had been little more than indifferent to, and I’d al but despised her, believing in my heart that she didn’t even love her own child.

But now—

I shook my head, embarrassed when I caught Christian’s eye in the rearview mirror when I did so, even though I couldn’t look away. He smiled softly, as if he were reiterating that she wasn’t who I thought she was, that she was wonderful and lovely and that I shouldn’t try to stop the fondness for her building up within me.

I tore my attention away, forcing it out the window to the world happening outside this car because it was impossible to bear what was happening inside. I wiped the tears that began to run down my face, tears of frustration for being thrown into the midst of this reunion, tears of anger that it was happening now, five years late, and worst of al , tears of relief shed for the knowledge that Christian’s mother loved him. Those tears scared me most.

Twenty minutes later, we pul ed into the vast parking lot of Sea World, already overflowing with cars. The three of them scrambled out. I stal ed, taking my time to adjust my backpack while I tried to get myself together.

The cool morning mist had begun to dissipate, and bright rays of sunlight broke through, warming my skin. If we were here under any other circumstances, I would have thought this was the perfect day to spend here.

“Mommy, are you coming?” Lizzie yel ed over her shoulder, looking back at me from where Claire and Christian had her flanked, a hand in each of theirs and standing about fifty feet away.

Nodding, I slung my backpack over my shoulders.

“Right behind you.” Christian grinned in what could only be construed as pure excitement, while Claire gazed back somewhat sympathetical y as if she knew how hard this was on me, though I was sure no one else could understand the kind of torture this would be.

I stayed at least ten steps behind them, careful to keep a distance. Lizzie squealed with delight as they traveled across the parking lot. Christian and Claire swung her into the air every few steps. Their laughter rang out, high and low, melodious—joyous—a stark contrast to the resentment I felt inside. I couldn’t believe Christian was carrying on as if this were normal, as if I belonged here with them, as if he hadn’t bul dozed me into suffering through this day.

We fel in line at the ticket booth; the three of them stil hand-in-hand while I kept a smal amount of space between us.

Christian stepped forward, next in line, passing a credit card through the window. “Three adults and one child.”

“Christian, no,” I said, snaking around him to give my debit card to the woman.

“Elizabeth.” His voice managed to hiss and plead at the same time. “Just let me pay. Please.” I shook my head in stubborn petulance. “I don’t want your money, Christian.”

Darkness clouded his expression, and he lowered his voice, inclining his head toward me. “I know, Elizabeth, you never have. You never even asked for what was yours.” Disarmed by the sadness I saw in his eyes, I found myself too shocked to resist any longer. I stepped back and self-consciously tucked my card back into my shorts pocket, terrified at how easily he’d just persuaded me.

Christian handed each of us a ticket. I accepted mine somewhat reluctantly, my attention directed to the ground as I muttered thanks under my breath, wishing not to owe him my gratitude. I glanced up to find him staring, his lips pursed, pensive. He opened his mouth as if to speak but closed it and jerked his attention away.

“You ready, sweetheart?” Christian’s reached for Lizzie, the fervor back in his voice, though it sounded somewhat forced.

“Yep!” Lizzie accepted his hand, skipping beside him as they bounded toward the gates.

Disinclination weighed down my feet, and I trudged along behind them, grunting at the man who accepted my ticket and wished me a good day.

That would be impossible.

I spent the morning as an intruder in their trinity, in the outskirts of their pleasure. Christian met each exhibit with unadulterated wonder, as a child in awe. I kept up my reluctant pursuit as they wandered through habitats, observed them as they marveled at sharks and dolphins and whales with sheer fascination. But their captivation with their surroundings paled in comparison to the enchantment they seemed to find with my little girl.

If it were possible, Christian had not once lost contact with Lizzie. Her hand was continual y in his, and when her feet grew tired, he didn’t hesitate to swing her onto his back. Lizzie kept an eye on me to assure that I was never far behind, her precious face urging me near. Christian cast glances my way, mindful, though he rarely lingered; his attention was focused on my daughter.

“Daddy, this is my very favorite!” Lizzie gushed as we approached the pools, and she rushed forward to stand on her tiptoes to dip her fingers into the water. Bat rays circled, and Lizzie stroked their backs as they floated by.

Christian leaned over the pool, his first touch tentative as he reached out, just grazing his fingertips along the edge of a smal ray’s wing. He looked at Lizzie and then at me, unable to contain the thril spil ing from his smile.

“This is incredible.” He shook his head just as mesmerized as Lizzie was as he sunk his hand into the water, this time running the palm of his hand down the center of the ray’s back.

“Aren’t they pretty, Daddy?” Lizzie asked, trailing her fingers lightly over the creatures soaring through the water.

Christian ran the back of his hand down her cheek and under her chin, his expression tender. “Beautiful,” he said, clearly speaking only of Lizzie.

I had to turn away, away from what I saw but refused to believe—away from what I’d seen every time he’d been with her.

He couldn’t love her. He just couldn’t. She was just a distraction; that’s al . This, whatever it was, was unsustainable, fleeting. I had to hold fast to that belief.

Anything else would render us weak, vulnerable, and I couldn’t afford to leave myself without adequate defenses.

In my discomfort, the morning passed slowly. Each minute dragged in measure with my feet. The four of us ate lunch at a table that was much too smal . Extreme effort was lunch at a table that was much too smal . Extreme effort was spent focusing on my food and not the constant jokes Christian made, Lizzie’s laughter infectious as she giggled over the sil iness exuded by her father. He was playful, unabashedly so, making no excuses for the ridiculous faces he made, his only concern to garner a reaction from Lizzie.

He looked so much like the man I once thought him to be.

A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth, one I refused to release. I bit my lip, cursing Christian’s ability to wear me down, asking myself, more importantly, why I was al owing him to do it.

Relief swept over me when he final y stood to gather our garbage, piled it on a tray, and walked across the eatery to dispose of it, thankful for the moment’s respite from his presence.

Christian returned seconds later, brushing off his hands as he asked, “Where to next, Lizzie?” Lizzie clambered down from her chair, bouncing. “Can we go play in the water now?”

Five minutes later, we approached the play area.

Christian and Lizzie had run up ahead while Claire and I trailed behind in silence. Lizzie glanced back, her impatient grin urging us to catch up.

“You wanna play, Momma?” she sang out once we were in earshot.

Never once had I passed up an opportunity to play with my daughter, but in this setting, I couldn’t imagine myself romping around alongside Christian. It was just too intimate.

“Um, I think I’m just going to watch you this time, Lizzie.

You go on ahead.” Disappointment flashed across her face, and I dropped to a knee in front of her, running an affectionate hand down her arm. “I’l be sitting right there, watching you the whole time. Okay, sweetheart?” I pointed at a bench under the shade of a tree and forced myself to smile.

She glanced behind her, nodding when she turned back to me. “Okay, Momma.”

I breathed a sigh of relief when she agreed. As much as I didn’t want to let my daughter down, I was desperate for a few moments to myself to clear my head. I kissed her on the forehead before retreating to the welcomed seclusion of the empty bench.

The solitude didn’t last long.

“She’s a wonderful child,” Claire said as she sat down beside me. “You’ve done such an amazing job with her.” I cast a sidelong glance. She looked ahead, watching Christian and Lizzie frolicking in the short bursts of water shooting up from the ground. I nodded, unsure of how to respond, or if I even wanted to respond. Six hours ago, I’d thought Claire Davison to be coldhearted and void of emotion; but now, I could only see her as kind and gentle, and I stil wasn’t sure how to handle that.

Lizzie shrieked, tearing my attention from Claire. Lizzie giggled as she dodged a burst of water. “Catch me, Daddy!”

Christian chased her, his laugh loud and surprised as a stream of water struck him against the side of his face, then again on his chest, soaking his shirt.

Lizzie squealed and danced. “You got al wet, Daddy!” Christian darted for her, sweeping her from her feet and into his arms. He chuckled and teased. “And now I’m gonna get you al wet.”

Lizzie kicked her feet, howling with laughter and screaming no, Daddy, no, though it was clear she relished every second of it.

My depression grew just watching them. Lizzie had fal en in love with her father, the thing I’d feared most. I had no idea how she would survive once he was gone.

Claire interrupted my torment and uttered softly, “He’s a good man, Elizabeth.”

I closed my eyes against her words, angry tears breaking free and running hot down my face. I had spent the entire day holding in my pain, pretending it didn’t hurt to look at him, and I couldn’t contain it any longer. I was so scared, scared of the muddled mess of emotions swirling inside of me, scared of the part of me that wanted to believe he was a good man.

“I’m scared.” The words slipped from my mouth before I could stop them.

She emitted a sad, slow sigh, her brow bowed in sympathy. “What he did to you was terribly wrong, Elizabeth, and I don’t blame you for feeling the way you do.

But I think you should know he’s regretted every day he’s spent without you, without his daughter.” I shook my head in vehemence, my voice sharpened with bitterness and laced with agony. “If he’d real y loved with bitterness and laced with agony. “If he’d real y loved me, he would have come back.”

She grimaced and nodded, though she wasn’t agreeing. “He should have.”

“Then why didn’t he?” Desperation oozed from me.

She glanced to where Christian and Lizzie played and back at me. “That’s something you’re going to have to ask him.” She looked back at her son and granddaughter playing, shaking her head. “I’ve never understood it myself.” Her voice was low, and I was unsure whether she’d meant for me to hear the last part.

“I’m not asking you to forget what he did, Elizabeth, but I am asking you to give him a chance to prove himself.” She wasn’t saying that she condoned what he’d done, nor did she condemn. She simply supported the son she loved.

Consumed with uncertainty, I watched the man who had crushed me and who stil had control of my heart. I wanted to believe what Claire was tel ing me. Believe that he’d real y loved me, believe that he loved me now—most importantly that he’d never hurt me again. I just didn’t know if I ever could.

As if she had read my thoughts, Claire patted my hand, understanding thick in her words. “Sometimes forgiveness takes time.”

Heaviness settled in my chest, and I found it difficult to speak. “I don’t know if I can.”

“But you stil love him,” she said.

I sighed and turned my face away. Loving Christian was something I’d never admit aloud, something I barely acknowledged in my own head. Sure, Matthew and Natalie knew, though it remained unspoken between us.

“I see it in the way you look at him,” she pressed on in conviction.

My silence could only affirm what she already knew.

Quiet settled over us as we watched Christian and Lizzie play. So much had changed in our years of separation, so much I didn’t understand. Somehow, her heart had softened and expanded while mine had grown hard and cynical. That prominent part of me screamed at how careless I was by exposing my feelings to Christian’s mother.

But for a few peaceful moments, I chose to ignore that voice and just absorb the solace lent in her words.

“Thank-you,” I whispered. I was thanking her for so many things, for the advice I wasn’t sure how to handle, for her compassion, for her understanding, for loving my daughter, for loving Christian—maybe even for loving me.

No doubt she’d already bound herself to my heart. Most of al , I was thanking her for showing me people had the ability to change.

Claire’s hand tightened over mine, and she shook her head slowly. “No, Elizabeth, thank-you.”

The arena was packed for the last show of the day, the sky darkened, the air chil ed. We squeezed into a middle row near the top. We were al worn out, Lizzie especial y.

Christian had carried her in his arms for the better part of an hour, and even though we al knew better, Lizzie had insisted she wasn’t tired at al and wanted to stay to see the nighttime Shamu show and fireworks.

Obviously, I wasn’t the only one she had wrapped around her finger.

Christian settled next to Claire with Lizzie on his lap, and I had no choice but to take the smal space beside him.

The afternoon had passed quickly this time as I’d paid purposeful attention to the way Christian interacted with my daughter. I’d forced myself to not to watch them through betrayed eyes but with an open mind; to see the clear adoration in his face as he watched everything she did, the way his eyes lit up when she spoke, the gentle way in which he held her, just as he did now. She was curled up on his lap, her eyes drooping in lazy contentment as we waited for the show to begin. She was asleep before the loudspeaker announced the start. Christian stared down at her, his expression worshipful as he swept her bangs from her eyes, a tender hand ran down the side of her face.

I swal owed the lump in my throat, struggling to accept what my scarred heart warred against.

He loved her.

He tilted his face to mine, his eyes raging, so many emotions swimming in their depths. “I love her so much, Elizabeth.” So many times, I’d heard him claim it as he told her goodbye, but this was the first time I believed it. He shifted her, cuddling her closer against his chest, turning away to press a kiss on her head. “So much,” he whispered, though this time the words were not intended for me.

I was sure the show was spel binding, a magical finale that would have fil ed the wide-eyed crowd with awe, though I wouldn’t have known. Staring unseeing ahead, I was unable to focus on anything but the ardor emanating from the man who sat beside me, cradling my child. As the show ended and gave way to fireworks brightening the sky, I lifted my face to the cool night air, closed my eyes, and for one minute let it al go. I was so tired of being angry and of living a guarded life. In that moment, I convinced myself that this constant worry couldn’t stop what was happening beside me, and for now, I would let Christian try to be a father. He might fail, and he might walk away, but I just couldn’t fight this any longer. I would give him that chance to prove himself.

Though I knew Claire had intended more when she’d made that request, I doubted a wound that deep could ever be healed, that I could ever trust enough to risk my heart in that way again. But as my body was washed in the warmth

of his nearness, a part of me wished I could.

The ride home was spent in easy silence, and for the first time in nearly three months, I felt something resembling relaxation. Lizzie had done little more than stir when Christian had transferred her from the cocoon of his arms into her booster seat. Now I watched as moonlight filtered in through the window and across her face, her fair skin glowing.

A dul thrum of anxiety stil echoed in my chest, a reminder of the responsibility that rested on me to keep her safe, and I was sure this uncertainty was something I would never truly be free of.

Christian pul ed into my driveway just before eleven.

The neighborhood was quiet as I stepped from his car, both my body and my mind weary. Stretching, I was unable to stifle the yawn that came as I rounded the driver’s side of the car. Christian beat me to it and waited beside Lizzie’s opened door.

“May I?” He inclined his head toward Lizzie.

Out of instinct, I almost said no, but instead I stepped back. “Sure.”

Taken by surprise, he studied me for a moment before smiling sleepily and ducking his head into the back of his car. Once again, his movements were gentle, mindful of the sleeping child as he unbuckled her and gathered her into his arms, fumbling as he tried to grab her dol and backpack.

“Here, let me get that.” I nudged him aside, reached in, and col ected Lizzie’s things before I slowly led Christian and Claire up the sidewalk to my front door. Taking a calming breath, I inserted the key, turned the lock, and pushed the door wide open.

For the first time since Lizzie’s birthday, Christian stepped through the threshold and into my home, a fulfil ment of the promise he’d made to return.

He stood in the foyer, holding my daughter and appearing, once again, to ask for permission.

With a smal amount of reticence, I motioned with my hand toward the staircase. “Her bedroom is the first door on the right.”

Christian quickly ascended the stairs, his footsteps light as he disappeared at the landing.

Claire reached out and cupped my face, her touch a grateful whisper.

I nodded against it, al owing a single, frightened tear to slip down my face. She wiped it away and then hurried to join her son upstairs.

Muted, soft words floated downstairs. I had no idea how many minutes I stood alone before Christian and Claire final y left Lizzie’s room, their leaden steps revealing their reluctance to leave her. I fidgeted, unsure of what to do with myself in my own home, thrown off kilter by their presence.

Christian moved toward the door, pausing when he stood in front of me, his expression solemn. “Thank-you, Elizabeth.” He glanced toward the stairs and then back at me. “This was the best day of my life.”

I looked down at my feet, unable to respond. The day had been too much, and the sorrow that came with his statement nearly brought me to my knees. He shuffled out the front door, and in his absence, Claire wrapped me in her arms. “Thank-you, Elizabeth,” she whispered against my ear. “You are an amazing, wonderful girl, and I’m so happy you al owed me to share this day with you.” In confusion and heartbreak, I clutched her to me, weeping quietly against her shoulder. She shushed me and murmured, “It’l al work out. Just wait; you’l see.” She pul ed back and took my face in her hands. “You’l see.” She hugged me once more before stepping away and walking out the door.

Sniffling, I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, chuckling somewhat nonsensical y at the dol I stil held. I took it upstairs and tucked it in beside my sleeping daughter. I kissed Lizzie’s cheek and prayed that her grandmother was right.

Something had changed. There had been a shift sometime during that day, the day that had been the most amazing of my life. It had been a glimpse of what life would have been like had I not thrown it al away, if we were a family.

Of course, I’d sensed Elizabeth’s discomfort, how she’d guarded herself in an attempt to protect herself from me. But as the day had progressed, I’d felt her soften—

thaw.

Relaxing in the damp comfort of the San Diego evening, watching the beauty exploding in the night sky, surrounded by the three people I loved most had been surreal, a fantasy I’d had a mil ion times come true. The warmth of Elizabeth’s body beside me had been hypnotizing, and I could focus on nothing other than the perfect weight of my daughter in my arms and the heat radiating from Elizabeth’s skin.

It was then that I’d felt the shift as the tension seemed to drain from her, a calm taking its place. I’d chanced a quick glance in her direction. My breath had caught in my throat. My love for her felt as if it would burst through my chest.

I don’t think I could ever forget the expression on her face.

She was so beautiful, and seeing her like that, so peaceful as if she had been freed of a suffocating weight, had brought me such relief.

That relief became overwhelming when she’d welcomed me into her home. Every part of me had wanted to wrap her in my arms, to thank her endlessly for the gift she had given me, trusting me enough to al ow me into another part of Lizzie’s world—her world. It meant everything to me.

Obviously, something had transpired between Elizabeth and my mother, even though Mom refused to share it. She insisted anything Elizabeth may have confided in her was between the two of them, and with a gentle hand on my arm, she’d encouraged me, once again, to be patient.

And I would. I’d wait forever for Elizabeth.

Bit by bit she opened up. Last night when I’d picked Lizzie up for our Friday night visit, Elizabeth hadn’t vocalized the invitation but stood aside when she opened the door in silent permission that I’d accepted.

As much as I wanted to, though, I didn’t push it. At the end of the night, Lizzie and I said our goodbyes at the door.

I had no idea what to ask of Elizabeth or how far her forgiveness would go. But for now I rested, satisfied in knowing I was doing something right on the way to gaining back her trust.

Every second she gave was precious.

I just wished the minutes away weren’t so lonely.

Hugging the smal , square pil ow to my chest, I sank deeper into the black leather of my couch. Restlessness nipped at my nerves as I flipped through channel after channel on the flat screen against the wal , the isolation reminding me again that I was living the wrong life. It was Saturday night. I should be with my family.

Sighing, I pointed the remote at the television and clicked it off, deciding to give up on the failed attempt to entertain myself. I tossed the pil ow aside, stood, and stretched my arms overhead, yawning as I made my way to my bedroom. I shrugged out of my shirt, figuring a hot shower was my best shot at a soothing distraction.

From the other room my phone rumbled against the glass coffee table, buzzing before giving way to its shril ring. I glanced at the clock on the nightstand.

Eight twenty-three.

I rushed back out to the main room, expecting it to be Mom cal ing to wish me a goodnight, although part of me hoped that it was Lizzie thinking of me. I pictured her sweet face pressed to her mother’s phone as she cal ed just to say she loved me one more time before her mother tucked her into bed.

I grinned when I saw the cal er ID.

Elizabeth’s name and number flashed on the screen as the phone vibrated and rang out again.

I grabbed it, sliding my finger across the faceplate just before it went to voicemail.

“Hey, sweetheart.” I could feel the force of my smile, thankful for the welcomed surprise.

“Christian . . .” I felt sick when I heard her voice, panicked and afraid.

“Elizabeth?” Immediately the panic in my voice matched hers. “What’s wrong?”

When she spoke, her voice trembled, and I could tel she was crying. “Lizzie fel down the stairs.” Fear clawed up my spine, and I fought against the nausea rushing up my throat with the sick image that flashed through my mind. I was back in my room and dragging my shirt over my head before I had time to respond. “Is she okay?” I tried to remain calm and clearheaded, but I knew I was about five seconds from a breakdown. The thought of something happening to Lizzie

—I’d never survive.

Elizabeth spoke in quiet distress, whispering, “I think she broke her arm, and she has a cut above her eye . . . it won’t stop bleeding.” She stumbled over the last, choking on her worry, although her news instantly eased my racing nerves.

Lizzie’s injuries definitely didn’t sound as serious I’d first imagined them to be. I shoved my feet in my shoes and

grabbed my keys from my desk.

I had started for the door when Elizabeth began fumbling over earnest words. “I tried to cal Matthew, but he didn’t answer . . . and Lizzie won’t stop crying . . . and she keeps asking for you.” Her voice dropped as her unease increased. “Can you come? I don’t want to take her to the hospital by myself.” A brief moment of silence fel between us at her request. Her discomfort in asking for my help was clear, but the need of our daughter was so much greater than that.

My condo door slammed closed behind me as I hit the hal and rushed for the elevator.

“I’m already on my way.”

Traffic was heavier than I’d hoped, but I stil made the short trip to Elizabeth’s house faster than I ever had. The neighborhood was already quiet when I turned onto their street. Children no longer played on the grassy lawns of their front yards or on the sidewalks. Instead windows glowed as families had taken their activities inside.

I jumped from my car, not bothering to pause to knock when I reached the door. I threw it open to find Lizzie on Elizabeth’s lap where they were huddled on the couch.

Lizzie clutched her left arm protectively to her chest and whimpered while Elizabeth held a damp towel to her head.

“Lizzie,” I said as both worry and relief rushed out of me from where I stood in the doorway, stil clutching the door handle. My heart ached to see her this way but was thankful it had not been so much worse.

“Daddy.” She sniffled but stil managed to welcome me with a smal smile.

I crossed the room, dropped to my knees in front of her, and brushed back the matted hair stuck to her face.

“Oh, sweetheart, are you okay?” My gaze swept over her, ultimately landing on the towel slowly saturating with blood that Elizabeth had pressed to Lizzie’s forehead.

“My arm hurts.” She grimaced and hugged her arm closer, her bright eyes wet with tears. The sharp stabbing in my chest made me wonder if it were physical y possible to feel someone else’s pain.

“I know, baby girl, I know.” I smiled sadly and then shifted so I could pick her up. “Come on, let’s get you fixed up.”

Lizzie’s eyes grew wide, and she pul ed away. For a moment, my heart fel with rejection before she shook her head stubbornly. “No, Daddy, I don’t like doctors.” Oh.

I glanced at Elizabeth, her eyes pleading. Say something.

I scooted closer. I tried to ignore the fact that as I did so, I hovered over Elizabeth, her knees brushing against my chest with every unsteady breath I took.

Instead, I focused on what was important—reassuring my daughter.

“Did you know I used to be scared of the doctor when I was a little boy?” I asked, keeping my tone light in an effort to comfort Lizzie.

She looked surprised. “You were?”

“Yep,” I answered, nodding. “And do you know what I learned?”

She shook her head.

“That doctors want to help us feel better,” I said, hoping I sounded convincing enough.

“But doctors give shots,” Lizzie said, pressing her lips together in defiance.

I suppressed a chuckle. Even in her distress, she was stil the cutest thing I’d ever seen. I felt Elizabeth’s smile, and imagined she was thinking the same thing.

Reaching out, I cupped Lizzie’s face, running my thumb over her cheek. “Sometimes they do, but it’s only to help you feel better.”

Lizzie’s bottom lip trembled. “But I hate shots, Daddy.” My expression softened in sympathy. This was the first time I’d real y seen my daughter frightened, and while I wanted to take away al her fear, to be her hero and to promise her I’d never let anyone or anything hurt her, I couldn’t do that. I had to be honest with her.

“I know, Lizzie.” I leaned in further. “But if you have to get a shot, Mommy and I wil be right there with you the whole time, okay?”

“Promise?” Lizzie whispered, stil fearful, though I could feel her resistance fading.

“Promise.” That was a promise I could make.

“Okay, Daddy.”

Careful y, I took Lizzie into my arms and murmured how proud I was of her. Elizabeth looked up at me as she handed Lizzie over and mouthed, “Thank-you.” Her lips moved slowly, cautiously. I knew it was hard for her to put this much trust in me, to place our injured daughter in my waiting arms. I nodded once as I met her eyes, wordlessly promising to never give her reason to regret it.

I carried Lizzie to the car where I strapped her into her booster seat, mindful of her injured arm. Elizabeth climbed into the backseat beside her, rattling off directions to the nearest ER. Within minutes, we walked through the doors and had Lizzie signed in.

We tucked ourselves in the farthest corner of the waiting room. I cradled Lizzie on my lap, and Elizabeth sat down in the chair next to me, closer to me than she was probably comfortable with. Warily, we eyed the room overflowing with people sporting about every il ness and injury we could imagine.

I blew out a loud sigh through my mouth.

Obviously, it was going to be a very long night.

By ten, probably thanks to the dose of medicine Elizabeth had given her before I arrived to their house, Lizzie’s pain had waned enough that she’d fal en asleep curled up on my lap as I rubbed continuous circles along her back. Elizabeth had said little, only quiet murmurings when she checked on her daughter, sweet words of reassurance and comfort.

Lizzie couldn’t have had a better mother.

For the hundredth time that night, I looked to the beautiful woman beside me. She appeared exhausted, dark bags beginning to appear below her honey-colored eyes, her blond waves in disarray from the number of times she’d wrenched her fingers through them. This time she must have felt me, and she lifted her eyes to meet mine as she smiled somewhat apologetical y.

“Thanks for being here, Christian,” she said as if she thought my being here was putting me out.

I inclined my head, turning so that I nearly spoke against her ear. “Would you be anywhere else right now, Elizabeth?”

She glanced at our sleeping child and then back at me, her brow furrowed. “Of course not.”

I looked at her intensely. “Neither would I.” She blinked several times before she pursed her lips and nodded. My mouth fel into a smal , sad smile, knowing part of her stil didn’t believe it. But that was okay because I knew another part of her did.

It was just another thing that only time would prove.

We sank back into silence. The passage of time dragged by as patients were cal ed back and others

arrived to take their place. Elizabeth yawned, her eyes drooping. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered under her breath as she scrubbed her palm over her face.

“Here.” I shifted, laying Lizzie in her arms. Her eyes shot to my face, wild and pleading. Don’t leave me.

She fel back into distrust so easily. It stung. “I’l be right back.”

Less than five minutes later, I returned with two Styrofoam cups of steaming coffee. I had prepared Elizabeth’s the way I remembered she liked it, one cream and two sugars.

She moaned in pleasure when I handed her the cup.

“Christian.” She breathed in the aroma, and her eyes closed as she brought it to her lips. “You’re a life saver.” Then she flashed me the first real smile she’d given me since I had come back into her life.

For what had to be the twentieth time in the last ten minutes, Elizabeth looked over her shoulder, checking to make sure Lizzie was comfortable. Lizzie had fal en back asleep almost the moment I’d put her in the car.

Elizabeth sighed as she faced forward, slumping deeper into the front passenger seat. Her elbow rested against the door with her head in her palm. “I always overreact when it comes to her,” she uttered, mostly to herself.

Glancing to my right, I smiled softly at the woman who owned my heart, who I now had come to know as one who questioned herself as a mother, worried that she was making mistakes, that she was too cautious or not cautious enough. Apparently, parenthood did that to you. She rol ed her head across the headrest and turned to face me, her eyes tired but warm. My smile grew.

“What?” she drawled, returning a lazy grin.

“I was just thinking what a good mother you are.” I pul ed into her driveway, cutting the engine and hoping I hadn’t ruined the amicable mood we’d fal en into over the last several hours.

She laughed quietly. “Sometimes I feel like I have no clue what I’m doing.”

Through the rearview mirror, I peered at the child she had raised, the little girl I had a hard time seeing as anything but perfect, and shook my head before turning back to Elizabeth. “You shouldn’t doubt yourself so much.” The urge to reach out and touch her was almost too much to resist—the way her lips parted in response to my words as she stared across the smal space at me, her body fatigued and mind weary. It reminded me so much of the way she used to look just before she fel asleep in my arms.

I quickly removed myself from the car before I did something very stupid.

Careful y, I gathered Lizzie in my arms and fol owed Elizabeth into the dark house and upstairs to Lizzie’s room where I laid our daughter on her smal bed. While Elizabeth dug in the dresser to find Lizzie’s favorite nightgown, I pul ed off her shoes and shorts. Guided by the dim light filtering in from the hal , Elizabeth and I worked together to get Lizzie ready for bed by removing her shirt over the sling that protected her elbow and wrist, her tiny fingers now swol en.

“You have no idea how happy I am this isn’t a cast,” Elizabeth whispered as we coaxed the shirt from her head.

I nodded. I couldn’t have agreed more.

Lizzie’s injuries could have been so much worse, but she had escaped with only a sprained wrist and the cut on her head had only required a simple butterfly bandage.

Most important to Lizzie was the fact that it meant no shots.

She’d been so brave with the doctor and nurses, sitting stil as they’d examined her and ran a series of x-rays and cooperating while they placed the bandage above her eye and rested her arm in a sling.

I was so proud of her.

Lizzie barely stirred as I held her up, and Elizabeth dressed her, pul ing the pink satin nightgown easily over her head. She took more time to careful y maneuver Lizzie’s arm through the sleeve.

Elizabeth held the comforter back while I laid our daughter on the sheets, and for the first time in Lizzie’s life, both of her parents tucked her into bed.

Even under the terrible circumstances, it felt amazing.

Pressing my lips to my daughter’s head, I whispered against it, “I love you, Lizzie.”

She groaned an unintel igible response that went straight to my heart.

Standing, I yawned and stretched. The smal digital clock on Lizzie’s nightstand glowed two-nineteen.

It was real y late, but stil I wasn’t ready to go.

From the bedroom door, I watched as Elizabeth kissed our daughter and ran a tender hand through Lizzie’s dark hair before she reluctantly stood and crossed the room.

I stepped out into the hal way, and Elizabeth fol owed behind me, leaving the door ajar behind her.

We both breathed a simultaneous sigh of relief, the ordeal official y over.

Standing in the subdued light of Elizabeth’s hal way, the two of us were frozen, unwil ing to move. There were so many things I wanted to say—needed to say, the silence between us expectant. It stretched on and inevitably became uncomfortable.

“You’d better get some rest,” I final y said, wishing I didn’t have to say goodbye.

She fidgeted. “It’s real y late, Christian.” She wrung her hands. “Why don’t you stay? I don’t have a guest room, but the couch is real y comfortable . . . if you want.” The nervous edge to her words dissipated as she extended her hand, reaching out but not touching. “Lizzie wil want to see you in the morning.”

She seemed to think she needed to convince me.

Didn’t she understand I never wanted to leave? But as much as I wanted to stay, I understood this was a huge offering for Elizabeth to make.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded. “Yeah . . . stay.” Maybe she would never admit it, maybe she didn’t even realize it herself, but as I peered down at her, I knew she wanted me to stay. The armor she wore to protection of herself wasn’t enough to conceal the hope in her eyes.

I swal owed, searching for my voice. “Elizabeth—” She held up a hand to stop me. “Please, Christian . . .

don’t.”

On instinct, I stepped back and closed my eyes to keep myself from saying things she wasn’t ready to hear.

Soon we would have to talk and lay it al out. But I heard her plea, and tonight I wouldn’t push her any farther than she was ready to go.

“Okay.”

The tension between us dissolved, and she moved into action. “Hang on a second.” She turned and disappeared into her room at the end of the smal hal before she returned less than two minutes later with a new toothbrush and a pair of pajama bottoms.

“Here.” She handed the smal pile to me. “Matthew left these here a long time ago.”

I looked down at the things in my hand and then back at Elizabeth, incredulous. Did she real y expect me to wear these? Matthew wasn’t exactly my biggest fan.

She laughed and shook her head. “It’s fine, Christian.

Just wear them.” She grinned and pointed toward the stairs. “There’s a bathroom off the family room.” I chuckled at the confounding woman in front of me who amazed me at every turn. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Elizabeth had always been the most caring, compassionate person I’d ever known, and she stil was. I just had to peel the layers back a little bit to see it.

How sad they were there because of me.

“Goodnight, Elizabeth.” A gracious smile spread across my face.

“Goodnight, Christian.” A moment was spent staring at each other, swimming in nostalgia and what could have been, before I turned and left her standing at the top of the stairs.

In the smal bathroom, I shed my clothes and put on the blue, flannel, pajama bottoms, feeling a twinge of guilt as I did so.

I was tired, but there was an energy stirring in me, leaving me unsure of how much sleep I would actual y get tonight. So many times I’d imagined this, what it would be like to stay here, though the circumstances now were so different than what had taken place in my dreams. I’d be sleeping on the couch—not with Elizabeth.

Running dampened hands through my hair, I exhaled and hoped I’d at least catch a couple hours of sleep.

Opening the door and flipping off the light switch, I stepped into the dimly-lit family room and came face-to-face with Elizabeth.

I stopped mid-stride, surprised to find her waiting for me on the other side of the bathroom door. Her eyes grew wide when they hit my bare chest before her face flushed red and she averted her gaze to the floor.

“Sorry . . . I . . . um . . . thought you might like to see these.”

She extended her arms, snapping me from my shock as she brought attention to what she held in her hands.

There were three albums, the kind that were perfectly square and fil ed with hours upon hours of a mother’s artwork.

Elizabeth held them out farther, encouraging me to take them. I shook as I reached a tentative hand out to accept them, my mouth dry and unable to express my gratitude for her gift. As we both held the albums between us, she looked up at me with what could only be described as sympathy, a tenderness that broke my heart and healed it at the same time. She nodded as she withdrew her hands and then turned and rushed upstairs.

Acute anxiety and severe longing fil ed my chest as I thought of facing what was inside, the albums an oppressive weight. I slowly moved to the couch and placed five years of memories on my lap, memories I wasn’t sure I was ready to face. I ran my fingertips over the brown cover and struggled to find the courage to open it. It took five ful minutes before I did. The muted glow from the lamp on the end table shed enough light to il uminate what the first page held—a birth announcement.

Elizabeth Grace Ayers

Born May 23rd at 4:37

am.

18.5” long

5 pounds 3 ounces

Breathtaking—heartbreaking.

Tears fel , and there was nothing I could have done to stop them.

In my hands was the image of an infant child, her face red and new, her tiny mouth pursed; even then, her grey-blue eyes were wide and expressive. A mass of shiny, black hair sat atop her head, my cleft marking her chin.

My daughter.

My fingers traced the picture.

So small.

I flashed back to the day I’d seen Elizabeth before she’d given birth—how thin, even sickly she’d appeared.

Now to know Lizzie had been so smal , it sent reality crashing down on me. My stomach twisted, my head spun, and sweat broke out across my forehead. Elizabeth hadn’t just looked sick, she was sick. I’d left her when she was sick.

I was a monster.

I choked on the lump in my throat and forced myself to turn the page—snapshots of a swaddled baby asleep in the hospital nursery, rocking in Matthew’s arms, pressed to her mother’s breast. The last was by far the most beautiful, the way Elizabeth held her daughter as if she’d found the world because she knew she had.

And I had missed it.

Each page showcased my daughter’s life, every milestone I had missed—first food, first step, first word, first birthday. Lizzie grinned at the camera with a pointy cap on her head, two teeth on top and two on the bottom, and a round cake with one candle, sitting in front of her—

surrounded by those who loved her.

I wasn’t there.

Images of a chubby-cheeked little girl, running, playing, always smiling fil ed the next pages. More birthdays, more Christmases, Easters, every celebration—five years of life.

And I wasn’t there because I had abandoned my family.

But when I turned to last page of the last album, I was.

Lizzie sat on my lap with her arms around my neck, showering me in undeserved love as she thanked me for a birthday gift I’d had no idea if she’d even like.

Worse than seeing what I had missed was knowing what had to have been left out of those pages, what wasn’t put on display. Every sleepless night, every worry, every fear. Failures and missed goals. Heartache, every tear shed.

Swept away in grief, I tried to bury my regret in the pil ow Elizabeth had left for me on the couch. It only smel ed of her. I pressed my face deeper, trying to drown out years of sorrow and loss, to conceal the devastation tearing me apart. It felt like death, five years slain by selfishness and stupidity.

Who of us had paid the biggest price? The beautiful child who shone like heaven on every page, her smile, joy—

her face, peace? Her mother, the one betrayed, the one who had worked so hard, loved so much that she had raised a child such as this? In the end, I knew it had to be me. I was the one who had lost, the one who had lived without, the one who was a fool to have ever imagined anything could have been better than this.

Without a doubt, I didn’t deserve to be here, to wrap myself up in the comfort of the blanket Elizabeth provided, to rest my head on the pil ow that could only have come from her bed, to accept her kindness as she al owed me into her home.

Most of al , I didn’t deserve the love of Lizzie.

The night I’d fal en apart after Elizabeth had first al owed me to see Lizzie, I’d thought I’d understood, but I’d had no idea. The truth was, I never would. I wasn’t there, and I would never real y know. And there was nothing I could do to earn that time back. Even if Elizabeth forgave me, I didn’t think I could ever forgive myself.

As much sorrow as these stil ed memories brought me, I couldn’t help but cherish the veiled experience, thankful to have a glimpse into life while I wasn’t real y living

at al . I lamented those years and hugged Elizabeth’s pil ow close as I took comfort in her scent, took comfort in her presence as I praised her for sharing the life I’d chosen not to be a part of—praised her for being brave enough to al ow me to be a part of it now.

That presence grew stronger, palpable. I jerked up when I realized I wasn’t alone, my eyes drawn to her.

Elizabeth stood clinging to the railing at the top of the stairs, watching down over me, tears staining her face. Neither of us said anything aloud, though my heart spoke a thousand regrets, every one of them a plea for forgiveness I could never deserve.

In her eyes, I saw what I desired most.

Elizabeth cared for me—hurt for me—loved me.

I stared back and poured everything I had into that moment, praying for once she wouldn’t question that I did too.

She closed her eyes and took two steps back, uncertainty and fear flowing from the corners, exposing a wounded heart that had forgotten how to trust but hadn’t forgotten how to love.

I shifted deeper into the warmth, refusing to let go of the comfort of Elizabeth’s lingering presence as I buried my face in her pil ow and pul ed the blanket tighter around my body. An unfamiliar nudging stirred me, dragging me from what I was sure were the two best hours of sleep I’d ever had.

“Wake up, Daddy.” A tiny giggle sounded close to my ear.

I rol ed from my stomach to my side and then opened my eyes to paradise.

Lizzie leaned over me, grinning.

I blinked the sleep away, smiling as I focused in on the precious child in front of me. She stil wore her nightgown but none of the pain from the night before.

“Hi, baby girl,” I rasped out, my throat raw from lack of sleep and hours of uncontained remorse. “Come here.” I lifted the blanket, inviting her to crawl in beside me. After last night, I needed to hold my daughter. She felt perfect as she settled next to me and rested her head on the pil ow. I placed a kiss on her forehead before ghosting fingertips over the now bruised skin over her eye.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

“I’m almost al better. My arm only hurts a little bit.” Her fingers grazed over my chest as she flexed and extended her fingers in a show of recovery.

My chest swel ed with emotion, her nearness eliciting a haunting sadness from the night before and an overwhelming appreciation for the grace I’d been given that al owed me to hold her this way today.

Her

eyes

burned,

her

child-like

innocence

overshadowed by a sudden deep awareness. “Daddy, what’s wrong?” The same swol en fingers reached out to caress my cheek in undeserved affection I would never take for granted.

“Nothing’s wrong, princess. Everything is perfect.” And just like that, the child was back. Her eyes were alight as she wiggled out of my grasp and onto her feet.

“Come on, Daddy. Breakfast is almost ready,” she said, attempting to drag me from the couch with her good arm Her statement set my senses in motion. The smel coming from the kitchen aroused memories from long ago

—bacon, eggs, and biscuits. My mouth watered and my stomach growled. Nobody made breakfast like Elizabeth.

Lizzie tugged on my hand again, clearly as excited over her mother’s breakfast as I was. With no resistance, I al owed Lizzie to lead me into the kitchen only to have my footsteps falter at the sight in front of me.

Elizabeth stood at the stove with her back to us and wore black pajama bottoms and a matching tank top. Her blonde hair was pinned up in a messy bun at the base of her neck. Errant pieces had fal en out and toppled down her back. She was barefoot, glowing, and gorgeous.

I struggled to breathe through the intense longing that coursed through my body.

She threw a quick glance over her shoulder, flashing another genuine smile. “Good morning.”

She turned back to her work, leaving me to whisper a barely audible good morning in return when real y I wanted to sing.

Elizabeth spooned what looked to be more than a dozen scrambled eggs into a bowl from a frying pan. “You’d better be hungry. I made enough food to feed an army.” Her tone was light, maybe even cheerful, as if the intensity from last night had long since been forgotten.

It struck me how natural it would seem to walk up behind her and wrap my arms around her waist, to lean over her shoulder and place a good morning kiss on her cheek, to tel her I loved her.

Instead, I said, “Starving.”

“Good.” She opened the oven door and leaned over to pul out a pan of homemade biscuits.

I had to look away, and my roving eyes drifted to the smal table in the kitchen nook. It was set for five. Suddenly, I became very uncomfortable.

“Uh, Elizabeth?”

“Yeah?” She stopped placing biscuits in a basket to look in my direction.

I gestured toward the table with my head. “Are you expecting company?”

Understanding dawned on her face. “Yeah, Matthew and Natalie come for breakfast every Sunday morning.” I roughed a hand through my hair. No further confrontations had taken place between Matthew and me since Lizzie’s birthday, but I wouldn’t say we were exactly friendly, either. I’d only seen him a handful of times in passing as I’d been picking up Lizzie or dropping her off, but each time he’d watched me with both suspicion and disdain.

Elizabeth looked at me as if she knew exactly what I was thinking. She pointed toward the bathroom. “You’d better hurry up and get changed; they’l be here any minute.” I knew then that I’d better get over it if I was going to be a part of Lizzie’s life.

I was only in the smal bathroom long enough to change into the clothes I’d worn the day before, brush my teeth, and to run wet hands through my hair in an attempt to tame the disaster on my head, but when I stepped out, Matthew and Natalie were already there.

From the archway, I watched the profuse apology Matthew gave Elizabeth while he held Lizzie in his arms, almost breathless in his explanation. “Elizabeth, I’m so sorry. Nat and I were at the movies last night, and I’d turned off my phone. I didn’t get the message until just before we got over here.”

Elizabeth tried to stop him. “Matthew . . . honestly . . . It was fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Elizabeth’s reassurance did nothing to ease his remorse. He hugged Lizzie to him. “I’m so sorry, Lizzie.” He seemed on the verge of tears.

“It’s okay, Uncle Maffew,” Lizzie promised as she nuzzled against his neck before sitting back and looking between Elizabeth and me. “My Mommy and Daddy took care of me.”

For the briefest moment, Matthew’s attention shifted from Lizzie to me. His expression was wary, but for the first time it lacked the contempt it normal y held. He opened his mouth as if to say something but turned away as Elizabeth made the cal to breakfast.

I couldn’t help but feel out of place as the four of them settled into their usual spots without a thought. Matthew and Lizzie dove right into conversation as he asked for a play-by-play of the night before while he dug into the food spread out on the table in front of him. My feet were glued to the floor, and I watched them with benevolent envy, without spite or resentment, but covetous of the bond they had formed.

Elizabeth looked up from her seat, smothering me in the warmth in her gaze. She inclined her head, beckoning me to take the spot beside her.

As much as I felt like an outsider, my need to be a part of this family outweighed the discomfort I experienced as I walked across the room and pul ed out the chair between Elizabeth and Lizzie.

Three pairs of eyes watched as I settled into my place, Natalie as if she’d always believed I belonged there, Matthew cautious, and Elizabeth with a hint of red on her cheeks. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one feeling self-conscious. But even if it was new and fil ed with uncertainty, it didn’t make it any less right.

Lizzie was the only one who didn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary and continued with the animated description of the previous night, relieving some of the awkwardness.

With a quiet grin on my face, I listened to my daughter prattle on and was unable to contain the pleasure I felt as I fil ed my plate from the bowls Elizabeth passed my way. If Lizzie had been in distress the night before, I never would have known. Matthew and Natalie hung on her every word as they showered her with sympathy and cheered her for being such a brave girl as she recounted her experience.

By the look of my plate, I knew I appeared to be a glutton. The homemade breakfast was piled high, but I couldn’t resist. How many mornings had I woken up to Elizabeth cooking in that smal kitchen of my apartment back in New York? I was salivating by the time I bit into a biscuit dripping with butter and raspberry jam. A moan escaped me before I could stop it.

The voice beside me was so quiet I wasn’t sure if I’d imagined it. “They were always your favorite.” I tilted my head toward her, smiled softly, wished I had the freedom to reach out and touch her face, and whispered, “Thank-you for making them.”

I realized we were being watched, but I didn’t care. I’d chosen to stop being a coward the day I’d final y sought Elizabeth out, and if I had to lay my heart out in front of her family to show her I cared for her, that I had never forgotten her, through something as simple has homemade biscuits, I would do it.

“So, Christian . . . ,” Natalie said, cutting in before placing a forkful of eggs in her mouth. She chewed and swal owed before she continued. “What do you think of living in San Diego?” I looked across the table at her, aware she was trying to make me comfortable and welcome me into their circle. She’d always been kind to me, giving me the benefit while everyone else had remained in doubt.

My gaze flickered between the girls on my left and right before returning to rest on her. “I love it here.”

“Me too,” Lizzie added as she shoved half of a piece of bacon into her mouth.

Yes. I absolutely loved it here.

“And work?” Natalie asked.

“Uh . . .” Honestly, I real y didn’t know how to answer her. I knew I had a dream job, and I wished I could appreciate it more; but in the end, it real y only served to remind me of what I’d walked away from to attain it.

Natalie laughed. “Work’s work, right?”

I chuckled at her observation even though it went much deeper than the obvious. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.” Elizabeth tensed beside me as we broached what I knew was going to be a very touchy subject for us.

Elizabeth had never been in it for the money, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have aspirations. And she was right, what she’d said that afternoon—we could have figured it out.

Lizzie jumped on the topic. “At my Daddy’s work you can see the ocean and at his house too,” she said with wide-eyed exuberance. Months before, I’d taken Lizzie to my office to show her where I worked, and of course, she’d been to my condo a number of times. She’d clearly been impressed by the fact that they looked over the water and had declared that one day she’d live by the ocean, too. It was a wish I’d be al too happy to grant.

Elizabeth joining the conversation caught me off guard.

“So, what’s it like working for your dad?” She studied me with a genuine concern-fil ed gaze. She’d known how turbulent my relationship with my father had been, and he’d been nothing but a self-righteous asshole to her. I was surprised she’d even mention him.

I looked directly at her and expel ed a weighty breath before I answered truthful y. “Miserable.” I shoveled some scrambled eggs into my mouth to cover up the disdain I felt for my father. He ruled his company with an iron fist and treated every single one of his employees like garbage, including me. Why he’d asked me to “head” the San Diego office when he thought me incapable of doing anything right was beyond me.

She nodded softly as if she’d expected it. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.” For everything.

Her attention dropped to her plate, absorbed with spearing eggs onto her fork.

It was al so disconcerting, the way Elizabeth and I had to tiptoe around each other as if every simple comment came with a threat to sweep us away in the undertow and to drown us in our past.

I turned back to Natalie in hope of a safer topic. “What do you do, Natalie?”

Her brown eyes lit up as she jumped into a detailed account of the last four years of her life—her goals, school, meeting Matthew. While she was young and viewed the world through an almost childlike awe, there was stil a depth to her. I liked her and could easily count her as a friend. “So right now I’m taking classes in the mornings to finish up my bachelor’s and taking care of this sweet little thing in the afternoons.” She poked Lizzie in the bel y with her finger, causing Lizzie to squeal.

Matthew watched his wife with tenderness, his face glowing as she spoke. I glanced at Elizabeth, then back at him, searching for any sort of unease with the interaction while wondering how their lives seemed so simple when the situation was anything but. Elizabeth merely watched them both with fondness. Maybe when I had seen Matthew at Elizabeth’s side that night I’d been too blinded by my own self-pity to see clearly, but I could plainly see it now.

He’d stood beside Elizabeth devoted as a protector, her guardian, but his touch had lacked what poured from him when he looked at his wife.

He’d never loved Elizabeth—not the way I did, not the way he loved Natalie.

I was such fool, every realization an amplification of the mistakes I’d made.

For the remainder of breakfast, I listened and learned.

Matthew directed nothing toward me other than an occasional penetrating stare as if he would give anything to know my thoughts.

Elizabeth’s little family carried on the way I imagined they always did, relaxed, enjoying each other, and chatting about what had happened throughout their week.

Elizabeth laughed.

And the world was right.

“Can I help with anything?” I stood in the doorway of Elizabeth’s kitchen as she loaded the dishwasher with the aftermath of Sunday morning. I’d just come downstairs from Lizzie’s room where I’d spent the last hour, playing with her on the floor—everything from dol s, to cars, to a game that required me to wear plastic earrings and a princess tiara.

I won.

Elizabeth smiled over her shoulder. “Nope, just finishing up.” She closed the dishwasher and twisted the dial to start.

“This was great, Elizabeth. Thank-you.”

She shook her head indicating it wasn’t a problem.

“I’m glad you were here.”

“I’m glad I was, too.” More than she could ever know.

Seeing Lizzie three days in a row had been wonderful, and even though I was aware this request would count as pushing again, I couldn’t imagine not seeing her for an entire week. “So, I was thinking . . . maybe I could pick Lizzie up on Tuesday from school to take her to lunch?” I felt nervous, shifting my feet, worried of her reaction. So I rambled. “I’d only keep her for a couple of hours, and I could bring her back to Natalie. You wouldn’t even know she was gone.”

She didn’t hesitate. “I don’t see why not. Just let me check with Nat.”

Natalie agreed, which didn’t surprise me. She seemed thril ed with the idea. The arrangement would be for me to pick Lizzie up from school and then drop her back at Natalie and Matthew’s house afterward. I typed the address Natalie had given me into my phone while she and Matthew hugged and kissed Elizabeth and Lizzie goodbye, their affection great as they promised they’d see each other tomorrow.

Natalie hugged me. At first it caught me off guard, but I was quick to reciprocate with a murmured thank-you low against her ear. She nodded and squeezed me harder in return, a clear understanding taking place between us.

The greater shock was when Matthew stepped forward and extended his hand. I accepted it, though my grip was weak and unsure. He shook it, firm and without reproach.

“Thanks for being there last night.”

I nodded even though I didn’t want his thanks. No father should need to be thanked for participating in what was his responsibility, but I had to accept that my past choices resulted in the judgment of my actions now.

“Al right, we’re outta here.” Natalie tugged on Matthew’s arm, taking his hand. With a final goodbye, they filed out the front door, their departure signaling that my time here today had ended as wel .

“I guess I’d better head out, too.” My tone was less than enthusiastic.

I knelt in front of my daughter and gathered her in my arms. There was nothing worse than tel ing her goodbye. “I love you, baby girl. Daddy’s going to pick you up from school on Tuesday.” I smoothed her hair and drank in her eyes. “Would you like that?”

“Yes!” She squeezed her arms around my neck.

“You’re the best daddy in the world!”

Her perception of me was so skewed, so far removed from the truth, but there would be no good purpose in correcting her now. I needed to talk to her about it, I knew, just as much as I needed to talk to her mother, but not as I was walking out the door. So I drew her closer, held her tight.

“Goodbye, princess.” In disinclination, I let her go and stood to leave.

“Bye, Daddy.”

Elizabeth regarded us from where she stood, leaning against the wal under the stairs, a new sadness on her face. It was a sadness I knew al too wel . I wore it al the time.

“Goodbye, Elizabeth. Thanks for everything.”

“Goodbye, Christian.”

I opened the door and stepped out into the warmth of the summer sun.

Elizabeth fol owed me to the doorway to see me out.

“Elizabeth?” I turned to her, pausing on her stoop. This wasn’t an afterthought. It’d been on my mind, weighing on me since last night. “Why didn’t you come back to class?” She stil ed as the meaning of my question dawned on her face. Her voice was quiet and cracked when she answered. “I was sick.”

Closing my eyes, I nodded as I rode out the suffocating wave of guilt, and in my shame, I turned and left Elizabeth with no further words.

The preschool was a large, white building with colorful letters splashed across the front and shrubs growing against its wal s. A wrought iron fence painted bright blue encompassed the grounds, and playground equipment fil ed the yard that was protected from the heat by a matching blue sunshade.

At exactly noon, I walked through the door and into the office, feeling a bit out of sorts and nervous. The room was mostly quiet; only the distorted sound of playful children seeped through the thin wal s. The young woman behind the counter asked if she could help me.

“Yes, I’m here to pick up Lizzie Ayers.” Her face lit in recognition. “Oh, yes, we were told to expect you.” She thumbed through a stack of files on her desk and produced a folder with Lizzie’s name on the tab.

She pul ed a sheet from it, passed it across to me, and set a pen on top of it. “I just need you to fil this out, and I need your driver’s license for verification.” Most of the form had been fil ed out by Elizabeth, her distinct handwriting adding me to the list of people authorized to pick Lizzie up from school. There was only a smal section where I needed to add my personal information.

My heart palpitated as I realized the huge leap of faith Elizabeth had taken in me.

I now had control of signing my daughter in and out of school.

With a shaky hand, I added the information and passed the form back to the receptionist along with my license.

She looked it over, put up a finger, and said, “Just a minute.”

She made a photocopy, added it to the file, and showed me where to sign out my daughter. Then she led me down the hal to Lizzie’s classroom.

“Daddy!” Lizzie spotted me the second we walked through the door and ran across the room with outstretched arms.

“Hi, sweetheart.” I picked her up and kissed her on the forehead, rocking her as I held her to my chest. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Daddy.”

“Come on, let’s get your things.”

Lizzie showed me her cubby stuffed with her day’s work, proud as she presented me with a picture she’d painted. Although the picture had been drawn with the crudeness of the hand of a five-year-old, the two adults and one child standing hand-in-hand, one with yel ow and two with black hair, made it clear who she’d drawn.

“This is beautiful, Lizzie.” So beautiful.

I helped her wriggle her backpack over the sling she stil wore on her arm and then took her good hand and led her out.

“Where to, Lizzie?” I looked at her through the rearview mirror where she was buckled in her booster in the backseat of my car.

“I want pizza!”

Then pizza it was.

Soon we were seated at a round table for two at the smal pizza parlor I’d looked up on my phone. It was the kind of place where the owner cooked in the back while he yel ed orders to his employees up front, a place where a person could order pizza by the slice and sit at tables covered in red and white checked cloths, a place where the intoxicating smel of fresh-baked dough hung in the air.

Lizzie sat on her knees, sipping a clear, bubbly soda through a straw, the two of us conversing about our day.

She told me of the fight between two little boys on the playground, her voice disapproving as she described how they had to sit in time out for the whole recess.

I chuckled and then told her about the board meeting I’d had to sit through the entire morning, leaving out al the boring details and tel ing her how I’d spent the entire time gazing out on the sailboats on the water while thinking of only her.

The server arrived with our food and refil ed our drinks.

The slices of pizza were huge and dripping with grease, and I convinced Lizzie to al ow me to cut it into pieces so she could eat it with a fork rather than trying to balance it with her one good hand.

“Thank-you, Daddy,” she said with a soft expression of appreciation on her face, as I set her plate back in front of her and handed her a fork.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” I smiled as she speared a piece of her cheese pizza and popped it into her mouth. Only then did I turn to wrestle the huge piece in front of me.

We ate in peace for a couple of minutes while I contemplated the best way to bring up a discussion I was certain would be one of the hardest of my life, but one I couldn’t put off any longer.

“Lizzie, honey?”

Grinning, she looked up from her plate and across the table at me.

“Are you happy Daddy’s here . . . now?” Real y, I knew what she would say. I just didn’t know a better way to break into the conversation.

She nodded as she took another bite. “Uh-huh.”

“Did your mom ever talk to you about why I wasn’t with you when you were younger?”

She shrugged one shoulder as if it didn’t matter at al .

“You didn’t want me.”