She needed to move forward with her life.

But why did it have to be so damned hard?

Bryce lifted his coffee. “To my newest assistant district attorney.”

“To new beginnings.” Morgan picked up her water glass and touched it to his cup. Soon she would feel like her old self.

Right?

“You might want to rethink declining dessert,” Bryce joked. “This will probably be the last decent meal we’ll have together. From now on, it’s all Chinese takeout at your desk.”

“I like Chinese takeout.” Morgan’s smile felt fake. Probably because it was.

Bryce paid the check, and they left the restaurant. On the sidewalk outside, he said good-bye with a warm handshake. “I’ll see you a week from Monday. Human Resources will be in touch.”

“Good-bye.” Morgan walked in the opposite direction and turned the corner, her grip tightening around the handle of her tote as if she was holding her composure together by her fingers.

She’d parked her minivan at the curb on a side street. Sunset cast long shadows across the sidewalk. Her heel caught and she stumbled, the shoe wrenching off her foot. Catching her balance, she backtracked a step, bent down, and picked up her shoe. The three-inch heel hung broken from the sole, the leather ripped beyond repair.

Tears welled in her eyes, and panic swirled in her chest. What the hell? It was just a shoe. In one heel and one bare foot, she clumped awkwardly across the street and got into her van. Thank goodness she was no longer in Bryce’s view. He didn’t need to discover the fragility of her professional persona. In truth, it fractured under pressure like spun sugar.

Sliding behind the wheel, she closed her eyes and breathed until the tightness in her chest eased. Meltdown averted, she removed her intact pump and tossed it on the passenger seat with its broken mate before driving home. There, she dropped her shoes in the garbage can at the head of the driveway and went inside.

In the living room, her grandfather leaned over the coffee table and stared at a chessboard. Their neighbor, Nick Zabrowski, sat on the opposite side. Nick owned a small landscaping company and lived across the street with his dad.

“Hi Nick.” Morgan set her tote on the chest in the foyer. “No plans tonight?”

“No.” At twenty, Nick was too young to spend his Friday nights with an elderly neighbor. Girl problems?

“Are the kids asleep?” Morgan asked.

Scratching his chin, Grandpa touched his rook then released it. “Yes.”

“How did you get Sophie to bed with Nick here?” Morgan asked. Nick was one of Sophie’s favorite people.

Nick blushed. “I read her a story.”

Aw.

Grandpa moved his rook, sat back, and looked at her. “Where are your shoes?”

“I broke a heel.” Morgan removed her suit jacket and tossed it over her tote.

Nick jumped his knight over a row of pawns. “I should go.”

Grandpa nodded. “We’ll finish the game tomorrow?”

“Sure.” Nick headed for the door. “’Night.”

“Goodnight.” Morgan closed and locked the door behind him.

Grandpa leaned over the chessboard.

“Let me get that for you.” Morgan shifted the board to a shelf, out of the way of her three small girls, who would roll through the living room like bowling balls in the morning. “Who’s winning?”

“Hard to say at this point.”

Nick and Grandpa had been playing chess for years. A former member of his high school chess team, Nick had the advantage, but Grandpa pulled a trick from his sleeve now and then.

“How did it go?” he asked.

“Fine,” she said, sniffing.

“I can tell.” Grandpa snorted. He snatched a tissue from a box on the side table and handed it to her.

Morgan blotted under her eyes. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just accepted an offer for a job I really wanted.”

“You’re taking a big step.” Grandpa rubbed her arm. “Change is scary. You’re going to be all right. You’re tough.”

Morgan nodded. Enough of this emotional bullshit. She didn’t feel tough, but she would fake it. She went into the kitchen and took a container of Chunky Monkey from the freezer. “Am I doing the right thing by the girls? They’ll have to make some pretty big adjustments.”

Grandpa followed her in. “They’ll be fine. They’ll miss you, but their lives won’t change that much. You’re the one who will have the big adjustment.”

Taking a spoon from the drawer, she ate directly from the pint.

Fetching his own spoon, he shuffled up next to her and helped himself. “No one said you had to go back to work. If you’re worried about money, you don’t have to be. Even after I’m gone, I have money put away—”

“Thank you.” Morgan stopped him. Tonight she couldn’t bear to think of losing him too. “I know you’ll always look after us.” She leaned her head against his shoulder. “But that’s not it. I haven’t even touched the money from John’s life insurance.” Living back home, she was able to cover her minimal expenses with her survivor benefits.

“I’m glad to see you trying to move forward. If you’re happy, the girls will be too.”

“Thanks. I hope so.” Morgan lifted her head. “I’m going to bed.”

“I’ll lock up and set the alarm.” Grandpa had installed a security system a few months ago.

Morgan wiped out the pint of ice cream, and then she carried her jacket back to her bedroom, frustrated and feeling the first twinge of a sugar headache.

Going back to work was supposed to alleviate her depression, not increase it.

She stopped in the girls’ room. Three twin beds crowded the space. Six-year-old Ava snuggled with her teddy bear. Five-year-old Mia curled on her side with her stuffed zebra tucked under her arm. Sophie, who didn’t let a simple thing like sleep keep her still, lay flat on her back, all four limbs flung out. She’d tossed her covers to the floor. At three, Sophie was a handful. Who was Morgan kidding? Sophie was going to be a handful at every age. Morgan picked up the blanket and covered her littlest daughter before continuing to her own room down the hall.

She undressed, hanging up her suit and putting on her robe. John stared at her from the photo on her nightstand. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she picked it up. She had better photos of him, formal pics taken in his dress uniform, but it was this one that spoke to her heart. Sweat glistened on his tanned brow, and his face was deployment-thin under a head of unruly dark hair. Dressed in tan BDUs, he laughed against the desert backdrop. That was John. Always looking at the bright side.

If he were here right now, he’d say, You can do this, babe.

“I’m trying. I miss you,” she said to his photo.

Heaviness settled over her. She opened the nightstand drawer and contemplated the sealed envelope in the back. No. Not ready for that. She closed the drawer. Setting his picture on the nightstand, she eased onto the pillow.

She’d taken the first, huge step toward getting her life back. That would have to be enough for today.

The sound of the phone ringing startled her. She lifted her head, confused. Her bedroom was brightly lit. She glanced at the clock. Just after midnight. She must have fallen asleep. It took her a few seconds to realize it wasn’t her cell that was ringing but the house phone. No one called on that line except telemarketers. The caller ID read Palmer.

Morgan lifted the receiver, expecting to hear the echo of a call center in the background. “Hello?”

“Morgan?” a woman’s voice asked, the rising pitch projecting anxiety.

“Yes,” Morgan said.

“This is Evelyn Palmer, Tessa’s grandmother.”

Morgan sat up straighter. Tessa was her occasional babysitter.

“What time did Tessa leave your house?” Mrs. Palmer asked.

Still groggy, Morgan said, “Tessa wasn’t here tonight.”

The line went quiet.

Morgan propped herself on an elbow. “Mrs. Palmer? What happened?”

“Tessa is gone.”

“What?” Morgan shifted the phone. She couldn’t have heard that correctly.