Her argument was beyond comprehension. Sure, he’d received mail. The world was full of desperate women seeking what they comprehend to be available. He’d never responded. Hell, he’d stopped opening them. He didn’t want to continue this conversation. Calming his tone, in hopes of subduing hers, he said, “Claire, our daughter is waiting.”

“I’ve already asked this once, don’t make me ask again. Is there someone else?”

He slowed his words. “Claire, calm down.”

Without warning, her petite hand slapped his cheek. The pain was minimal compared to the shock. Flashbacks of the reverse bombarded his mind. Seizing her fingers, he asked, “What the hell was that?”

“You never answer my questions. Tell me, were there letters? Did women write to you promising anything you wanted, all for the chance to take my place?”

Without releasing her fingers he said, “You’re getting yourself all worked up. Calm down; Nichol is waiting.”

“I deserve to know.”

“Yes. Are you happy? There were letters. I didn’t respond. I don’t give a damn about anyone, anyone but you.” Thinking not of the letters, but of Patricia, he added, “Hell, I even—”

No. He wasn’t going to get into it. He wasn’t going to tell her how he’d fired one of the best assistants he’d ever had because she offered him more than he’d ever want from anyone but the woman before him.

She prodded, “You even what?”

“We’ll finish this discussion another time.” Or not. He released her fingers. “Now, do you plan to join me, or do you plan to sit in the car all evening?”

“I plan to join you,” she stoically replied.

Tony didn’t notice the niceness of the Vandersols’ home as they made their way up the sidewalk. His mind was too busy reining the red from their confrontation and contemplating the little girl behind the door. They last saw her two and a half years ago. To him and Claire that was a long time, but that was nothing compared to Nichol: for her it was a lifetime. She was only a baby and now…

Emily greeted them at the door and led them to the living room. “We told Nichol she had some special guests coming to see her.”

As soon as Nichol came into view, Claire reached for Tony’s hand. Sitting on the floor by a dollhouse was their daughter. Time stood still as Tony took in the beautiful little girl, once again in three-dimension. The pictures he’d received paled in comparison to the vibrant child before them. She was a vision—their creation. She was the place where Claire’s light met his darkness. She was everything that was good in Claire and maybe in him. Her big brown eyes were light with wonder. She was Claire—before him, before he’d hurt her and destroyed her life. Nichol was the promise of innocence. In that instant, as in the moment Madeline laid her in his arms, Tony knew that he’d willingly sacrifice his life before he allowed anyone to take that away from her.

Claire let go of Tony’s hand and knelt on the floor. “Hello, Nichol,” she said, feigning strength where Tony knew there was insecurity.

Their daughter stood and stared. Finally, John stepped forward, and Nichol reached for his hand. “Nichol,” John said. “Can you say hi to the friends we told you about?”

“Hi.”

Tony knelt beside Claire who reached out her hand. Nichol’s small fingers shook Claire’s hand as she asked, “Who are you?”

Tony laughed. “Direct, isn’t she?”

With a snicker, Emily replied, “Very. I can’t imagine where she gets it.”

“Nichol, my name is Claire, but you can call me Mom.”

Nichol’s eyes grew wide as she peered from Claire to Tony. Finally, she asked, “Are you my daddy?”

His heart swelled. Never had Tony been prouder to answer, “I am.”

Dropping John’s grasp, she stepped forward and touched a small hand to each of their cheeks. Tony waited for her to speak. Finally, Claire said, “We’re really here, honey, and we’re so sorry we’ve been gone.”

Nichol smiled, her eyes lightening to a milk chocolate. “I knew one day you’d come. Aunt Em said you were sick, and when you got better, you’d be here. Are you better?”

Claire answered, “Yes, I’m much better. Nichol, can we hug you?”

Lowering her little hands to their shoulders, she nodded. For a few seconds, Tony’s envelope filled to overflowing. It was everything they had in paradise and more. He remembered their bubble during the night when Nichol would wake. Now that she was older, he saw his directness and her mother’s tenderness. For an instant it was only the three of them and then without warning, Nichol released her hug and rushed to her cousin. “Mikey, know what? I have a mommy and daddy, too!” Looking up to Emily, Nichol asked, “Does that mean they’re Mikey’s aunt and uncle, like you and Uncle John?”

Emily looked their way and replied, “Yes, honey, it does.” Reaching for her son, she said, “Michael, this is Mommy’s sister, your Aunt Claire.” She hesitated as Tony and Claire stood. “And—your Uncle Tony.”

Claire once again put out her hand. “Hello, Michael, I’m so glad to meet you.”

Michael took her hand and smiled bashfully. John’s voice filled the otherwise quiet room. “Kids, if it wasn’t for Uncle Tony, we wouldn’t be here.”

Tony’s eyes went to John. So much time, so many mistakes: was he going to lay it out here? Preparing to accept what he deserved, Tony waited. However, when John spoke, it was not what Tony had expected. “Before you were born, Michael, Uncle Tony saved your mom and me from a fire. If he hadn’t done that, then you wouldn’t be here, either.”