Chapter 17
When Lily was two, we had a little boy.
We named him James, after my best man, our oldest friend. He was a big, loud baby, with a head full of red hair like my mother and a laugh that could fill a whole room. Lily loved him immediately, calling him “my Jamie” and trying to carry him around before he could even hold his head up.
Our house got even louder, even messier, even more full of love.
We had to buy a bigger car, a minivan that I’d once sworn I’d never drive, but I loved it. I loved loading the kids into their car seats, driving them to the park, to the zoo, to the beach on weekends. I loved being a dad. It was the best job I’d ever had, better than being CEO, better than building the company, better than anything.
Clara and I still made time for us, too. Once a week, my father would come over and watch the kids, and we’d go out to dinner, just the two of us, holding hands across the table, talking about everything and nothing. We’d dance in the living room after the kids were asleep, slow dancing to old songs, just like we had at our wedding.
We never took each other for granted. We knew how close we’d come to losing everything, to losing each other. Every kiss, every hug, every quiet morning together was a gift.
The company kept growing, too. We opened offices in ten new countries, we started a scholarship program for kids who couldn’t afford college, we built hospitals and schools in poor countries. Clara ran all of it, her foundation now a global force for good. People called her a saint, a hero, but she just laughed and said she was just doing what needed to be done.
My father retired when he was seventy, spending his days gardening and playing with the grandkids. He was the best grandfather in the world, building tree houses and teaching them to fish and telling them stories about their grandmother. He was happy, finally, after so many years of being alone.
Uncle Martin and his wife had a little boy, too, a year younger than Jamie. The cousins were best friends, running around the house together, getting into trouble, making messes that the maids pretended to be mad about.
Daniel got married, and he and his wife had twin girls. Clara was their godmother, and I was their godfather. We spent every holiday together, all of us, one big, loud, happy family.
Marcus got married, too, to a nurse who’d worked at the hospital when I’d been shot. They had a little girl, same age as Jamie. Max the golden retriever was still around, old and gray now, but still happy, still sleeping under my desk, still letting the kids climb all over him.
Life was perfect.
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But then, one day, a letter came in the mail.
It was from Vanessa.
