Grace started to blink twice for no, but stopped herself. Dr. Drummond? The image of a stocky, bald man wearing a white shirt, blue tie and cream-yellow suspenders flashed through her mind. And she could hear his baritone voice speaking to her slowly and softly. As she recalled what he'd said, she tried to block the words, not wanting to hear the truth. With every ounce of her fragile strength she fought against remembering.

"Oh, you poor thing," Nurse Andrea said, then tenderly wiped away the tears cascading down Grace's cheeks. "Your body will heal in time and someday you'll be able to rebuild your life. For now, you must rest and let me take good care of you."

Grace lay there on the cold, sterile bed in her private room at St. Camille Hospital and prayed to die. She had absolutely nothing to live for now. Dean was dead. Daddy was dead. With a strength born of determination, she lifted her hand and laid it on her flat stomach. And the child she and Dean had longed for-the little girl Grace had envisioned many times since the moment she found out she was pregnant-would never be born. She had even chosen her unborn baby's name, Emma Lynn, in honor of her two grandmothers.

She could hear Dr. Drummond saying, "I'm sorry, Grace, but you miscarried the baby."

Grace pleaded with the Almighty. Please, God, please, take me, too. I want to be with Dean and Daddy… and with my little Emma Lynn, who never had the chance to live.

Chapter 1

Elsa Leone placed the morning mail on the ornate Jacobean desk, then hurried into the adjoining kitchenette to prepare her employer's morning beverage, a rich cinnamon-flavored cappuccino.