Tossing on the soft sheets, Claire looked out to the bright morning sky, through the giant wall of glass. She wondered what happened to those fairy tale couples after the last page. Was happily ever after even obtainable? Her new life wasn’t terrible. She’d take the cards she’d been dealt and try to make the best out of it. After all, that’s how she’d survived until now. As a young girl, she’d never dreamt of wealth, yet she had more money than she could ever spend. Fame? She never wanted it and detested having it. What had she wanted out of life? What requests had she made?

Her mind slipped back through the years to a cold, snowy day. Wrapped in Tony’s arms, in his suite, in front of a warm blazing fire, she made requests—access to her own invitations—the ability to contact her sister—to leave the estate whenever she wanted—and for Tony to contact her directly. She had it all. Her new home came with a laptop and tablet. Emily wasn’t just reachable—she’d be visiting her each night. In the garage Claire had two vehicles—a car and a SUV, safer for when she drove Nichol. She also had access to a driver whenever she desired. Lastly, the cell phone near her bed was available to anyone who wanted to call. Thinking about the new house, there weren’t any requests Claire could recall that Tony hadn’t delivered. Even the tall windows and sunlight throughout the house were fulfillments of promises made. He’d provided everything she ever wanted—except him. On that cold, snowy day she didn’t realize what she had. Perhaps no one ever does—until it’s gone.

Forcing herself to move, Claire got out of bed. She would move forward, one step at a time. She’d almost folded once—that wouldn’t happen again.

As the days went by, Claire lived for her visits with Nichol. She anxiously anticipated her daughter’s move onto the estate. In the meantime, Claire decided if she were to oversee a 6,000 acre estate, then she needed to know her staff. It was much easier than her first move to this property. This time, she was the mistress of the house, not some woman being held prisoner in the upstairs suite. The entire staff was new. The only original remaining member of Tony’s staff was Eric, and he worked for Tony—not Claire. Since Tony always drove to see Nichol, Claire rarely saw Eric.

Each evening after dinner, Tony would pick Claire up at the estate and drive to the Vandersols. In the beginning, everyone was present. With time, John, Emily, and Michael made excuses to leave Tony, Claire, and Nichol alone. It was as the child psychologist predicted—day by day—Nichol’s comfort level with her parents increased. After their visits, Tony would take Claire back to the estate and go to his apartment. There was no reason to discuss or argue—the decision was made, and the conversation was over.

After a week, the Vandersols brought Nichol to the estate. It didn’t take long for her to find the treasure of toys and clothes awaiting her in her new room. The psychologist recommended one more week of visits before the final move. Nichol seemed to be adapting well.

Two staff positions remained open on the estate which Tony asked Claire to fill personally. The first was a nanny. Over the course of many days, Claire interviewed potential caregivers. Finally, she decided on a younger woman named Shannon. Granted, the grandmotherly types were experienced, but each one reminded her of Catherine in some way. She felt much better with Shannon.

The second position Claire needed to fill was the head of the estate’s security. At first, Claire protested about the need—Tony reassured her there had always been a security team on the estate. Regardless of a decreased threat level, people in their position were always in need of security. Thinking about Nichol, Claire acquiesced. After the fourth interview, Claire realized who she wanted, and it wasn’t one of the names listed on her paper. That night when Tony arrived to take her to Nichol, she told him, “I know who I want as head of my security. I just don’t know how to contact him.”

“You were supposed to get a list with numbers. Was one missing?”

“No, I don’t want anyone from that list. I want Phillip Roach.”

Tony’s look of surprise quickly morphed into his new constant expression of indifference. “He isn’t the type of man to leave a forwarding address. I don’t know if he can be reached. Besides, the people on that list have been prescreened. Any one of them will do nicely—”

Claire interrupted, “I don’t want one of them.”

“Why do you want Roach?”

“I know him, and I feel comfortable with him,” Claire argued her point with conviction. “With all the new people working around me, I’d like some familiarity.”