Dawn had not yet approached, the edge of the steep cliff still shrouded in murky darkness. Sutton Smith stood erect and motionless, the steady sound of his breathing getting drowned out by the monotonous roar of the crashing waves below. He kept his eyes fixed on the rising sun on the distant horizon of the San Diego bay, which at present was nothing more than a laser point against the hazy streaks of blue and gray.

We regret to inform you … Every word of the letter he’d received six months ago was burned into his memory, but those five played on repeat.

And after six months, today was the day everything would finally end. For weeks he’d meticulously planned this mission down to the last detail. Now that it was upon him, he thought he might be apprehensive … afraid. But this very second, he was curiously numb, his heart lying like dead weight in his chest. That might change tonight, however, when the deed was upon him.

He’d return to this very same spot a few hours after sunset. One jump and it would all be over. The hurt would stop. No more grief. That’s what he wanted, for the wretched pain to end.

We regret to inform you …

He clenched his fist, Doug’s face flashing before his mind. Sutton saw him as he’d been as a child, with a cap of shiny, chestnut hair and dark eyes filled with wonder. Doug had been a chubby baby, but it didn’t take long for him to grow out of that phase into a lanky teenager. Not only had Doug been a tremendous athlete, but he was book smart as well. He could’ve gone to any college of his choice, which was why Sutton was pleasantly surprised when Doug announced that he wanted to join the Navy and apply for BUD/S training to become a SEAL.

That moment had been like summiting a peak he’d been climbing for decades. After all the left turns Sutton’s life had made, to know that Doug was following in his footsteps—or the American equivalent—had been proof positive that Sutton’s life had actually meant something. Doug could have been anything he wanted, and what he wanted was to follow his father’s footsteps and offer his life in the name of valor, honor, and defense of freedom. Doug’s enlistment would right the wrong that had been done to Sutton and restore honor to the family.

Sutton had joined the British Royal Navy right out of high school and would have made a career out of it, were it not for the dishonorable discharge. A wound that still stung because it was totally unfounded. The smear on his reputation had tainted everything and everyone around him.

But that was part of life and especially military life. Sometimes bad things happened to good people and the best intentions landed you on the wrong side of a military court. Even after all that, he could have taken his lashes and moved on.

Her face flashed into his mind. Liz’s face. The real death blow to the old Sutton Smith was losing the love of his life. He’d gone home, discharged and shamed, to find that the only bright spot in his life had married James, the Duke of Gunthry. After twenty-five lonely years he still had no real answers why, only decades of pain watching Liz be named one of the most beautiful women in the world, and always appearing on Gunthry’s scrawny arm.

Sutton had made a clean break and moved to California. The temperate climate with the warm, sunny days was a refreshing change from damp dreariness of England. With his family’s interests in banking, money was no object, so Sutton found a pristine spot of land on which to build a veritable mansion that would’ve made Her Majesty the Queen envious.

Sutton had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Like Doug, he could’ve done anything in the world he wanted. And like Sutton, Doug had been willing to give it all up for God and country.

And for some reason that Sutton still didn’t comprehend, God had required all from Doug, and taken all from Sutton. When Sutton had instilled those lofty beliefs in Doug, he never imagined they would eventually get him killed. Sure being a SEAL was risky, but Doug was well prepared, the best of the best. And yet, in an instant, his life was snuffed out before it really had a chance to begin.

We regret to inform you …

Sutton’s lower lip trembled, bitterness churning like acid in his gut. He would give his life for Doug’s a thousand times over if he could. No father should have to outlive his son. Doug had been Sutton’s only family to speak of. There was his estranged sister, Anne, whom he’d not communicated with in years. But she might as well have been dead to him because she was no longer a part of his life. Now that Doug was gone, there was no sense in continuing. Sutton had waited six months to make sure he was past the initial shock phase so he wouldn’t make a rash decision. But as it turned out, the passage of time had only made him more confident in the path he was choosing.

He wondered if Doug would be waiting for him on the other side. A rueful laugh rumbled in his throat. Maybe Doug would be disappointed in him for not sticking it out. Or maybe there was no life after this one. He might just jump off the cliff and cease to exist. Whatever happened would be better than the mind-numbing anguish.

How much time passed, he didn’t know, but the sun continued its upward climb into the morning sky, gaining size and brilliance as it went. It was a spectacular sunrise, the rays stretching like silver wands over the rippled water as the light gradually increased. Doug had loved coming out here to watch the sunrise, which is why Sutton was here instead of going through his usual early morning weight-lifting and cardio routine. It was weird to think he’d never do his usual routines again.

Today was a day for remembrance. His mission was to systematically do all of Doug’s favorite things—a final tribute to his son.

Sutton turned his back on the sunrise and made his way to the sprawling English Tudor mansion. When it was in the construction phase, Sutton brought in an architect from England who oversaw the project to make sure the style remained authentic. The mansion had a stately feel with the aged red brick and intricate network of steeply pitched rooftops. Had it sat next to other homes, it might’ve looked odd compared to the Mid-Century Modern architecture so indicative of California. But here, in this secluded spot, nestled on a cliff overlooking the ocean, the mansion was right at home, like it had been here for a century. Of course, using substrates that would give the mansion an aged feel had cost a pretty penny. But it was worth it.

Even the mansion reminded him of what he’d lost. It was supposed to be a haven for Doug’s future family someday. The estate was comprised of two palatial guest houses, an Olympic-sized pool, tennis and basketball courts, and even a bowling alley. It was laughable to think that only two people lived here—Sutton and his housekeeper Agatha who’d looked after him from the time he was a lad.

Agatha didn’t know it, but Sutton was leaving the entirety of his estate to her. Whatever she chose to do with it was her prerogative. Twenty years his senior, Agatha had been part friend, part mother, and part sister. She was the only person in this world who’d miss him when he was gone. Over the years, many had tried to ingratiate themselves in with Sutton because of his money. People envied his wealth, lusted after it, believing if they had a hundredth of what he possessed they’d be deliriously happy. He chuckled humorlessly as he opened the glass door and stepped into the cavernous family room where the ceiling spanned two stories. Yes, on the surface, he looked like he had it made. But that was a lie. Money didn’t buy happiness. Comfort maybe, but not happiness.

The smell of sizzling bacon wafted through the house, causing his stomach to rumble. Interesting that the needs of the flesh were making themselves known, even now. He heard the blur of voices from the TV as he stepped into the kitchen and found Agatha at the stove flipping pancakes, her attention fixed on the flat-screen television mounted underneath an upper cabinet. He’d requested that Agatha have breakfast ready at seven, and he could count on Agatha following his orders to the letter. Everything but Agatha’s quick-witted tongue was punctual and precise, a tribute to her British heritage.

When Sutton named the items he wanted for breakfast this morning—blueberry pancakes, whipped cream, crisp bacon strips, and orange juice—Agatha gave him a puzzled look. She knew this had been Doug’s favorite breakfast, whereas Sutton normally had black coffee and toast.

“Isn’t this the loveliest of days?” she said.

“Morning. Smells good.” Sutton pulled out a chair and sat down. Agatha thought every day was lovely.

Agatha turned, her dark eyes flickering over him. “You were up at the crack of dawn this morning. No pumping iron to build up those glorious muscles today?”

“I went outside to watch the sunrise.” He reached for the folded cloth napkin beside his place. He opened it, giving it a brisk shake, before placing it in his lap.

She nodded, her lips forming a tight, disapproving line.

“What?”

“Something’s off with you, my boy. I can smell it.” She frowned and sniffed. “And whatever it is … I don’t like it.” She motioned. “No workout. This breakfast. If I didn’t know better, I’d think—”

“What?” he cut in, eyeing her in a challenge as his anger rekindled.

She blinked a few times, rubbing a hand over her apron. “That this has something to do with Dougie.”

His eyebrow shot up, his voice cold and brittle. “Just because I requested pancakes and bacon doesn’t mean you have to start assuming things.”

She perched a hand on her hip, her spatula waving out like a flag beside her. “I’ll assume anything I like, you whipper-snapper. And don’t you dare give me lip.”

He barked out a laugh. He would miss his friend. “I wouldn’t dream of ‘giving you lip’.” He reached for the newspaper beside his plate. Better to bury his nose in it than to get grilled by Agatha. She knew him too well. If she pried hard and long she was sure to weasel everything out of him, and he couldn’t let that happen. Not today. He felt empathy for the turmoil his death would put Agatha through. But she was getting the estate. That would have to compensate for some of the loss.

Guilt churned in his gut as he peered over the top of the newspaper at the quirky woman in front of him, knowing money meant little. Her appearance was … interesting. Her softly-lined face was haloed with a mass of white hair and her blue eyes had ridiculously long eyelashes. She was in a bright floral dress today. Her smile alone could light up the room, if her clothing didn’t accomplish the job first. Agatha had always been so good to him and she was the only one who made him laugh … since losing Liz and then Doug. She didn’t deserve all the stress that would result from his death. He reached for the glass of orange juice and swallowed down the guilt with a few hard gulps. He couldn’t get sidetracked by emotions. He had to stay focused on the mission at hand.

His eyes perused the article headlines, not processing a word. At this point, any events, local or global, were irrelevant. He flinched, lowering the newspaper, when he heard the familiar name. Even though his head commanded him to tune it out and look away, his eyes had other ideas. There she was, plain as day on the TV.

She was standing on a red carpet surrounded by throngs of reporters, all snapping pictures. Liz was as beautiful as ever, only improved with age. Dressed to the nines in a sleek black dress that showcased her willowy figure, she wore her hair down so that the blonde tresses tumbled over her shoulders. She waved while flashing the same regal expression he remembered, the one she put on for the cameras. A sense of nostalgia hit him so hard that it brought moisture to his eyes. He caught a whiff of vanilla, Liz’s favorite scent. Felt again the soft flutter of her lips against his. Saw the tender expression of affection on her beautiful face. Then came the rebound wave of hurt, the same that happened any time he thought of her. He’d never loved a woman like he had Liz. He was grateful and also infuriated that he would catch a glimpse of her today, of all days. It was obviously fate’s way of reminding him of all that he’d lost. He laughed inwardly at the bitter irony.

The duke, who Sutton had been actively ignoring, angled away from Liz to face a different bank of cameras. The commentator chirped about how the Duke of Gunthry and his wife Elizabeth were amongst the attendees at a charity gala to raise money for Type 2 Diabetes.

Just then he caught a glimpse through the carefully crafted façade. Liz looked sad … haunted.

He grunted out a humorless laugh. It was a feeling he got from her on occasion and he always wondered if he was projecting his own experiences and feelings on her. What did Liz have to be haunted about? Liz was obviously content with her life in the spotlight, pleased with her husband’s title and his blue blood pure enough to satisfy the demands of Liz’s father. His stomach tightened as he looked at Duke Gunthry beside her, a proprietary hand around her waist. Tall and thin with dark, perfect hair, the duke exuded a charming aura. He’d give any American politician a run for their money saying one thing and doing another. Distaste turned his mouth sour.

A knife thrust through Sutton’s heart when the duke leaned over and kissed Liz on the lips. The years peeled away and the old familiar hurt was back with a vengeance. How was it possible for a wound to be so raw decades later?

He heard a sound and realized Agatha had gasped. Her eyes flew open wide as she looked at Sutton. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention to the filth they put on the telly nowadays,” she said quickly as she reached for the remote and switched the channel.

He grunted a response and buried his head in the paper. For a second, he didn’t realize Agatha was talking. He lowered the paper to catch what she was saying.

“For what it’s worth, Elizabeth was a nincompoop for choosing that pompous duke over you.” Fire blazed in her eyes, and he could tell she meant every word.

“It doesn’t matter,” he muttered. “Ancient history.”

She gave him that motherly look—part compassion and part reproof—and he got the uncanny feeling she could see into his very soul. “You’re wrong,” she said quietly. “The heart’s impervious to the passage of time. And despite what you think, all the tragedy that you’ve suffered will work for your good. You’re one of the great ones, Sutton. And I firmly believe the Good Lord has wonderful things in store for you. He’ll use you as a tool to help others, you mark my words. Open that hard old heart to Him.”

He had to fight the urge to laugh at the most serious words he’d ever heard from Agatha’s bright pink lips. One of the great ones? He didn’t think so. The only thing God had in store for him was the bottom of a cliff in a few short hours. He realized Agatha was watching him, waiting for a response. She meant well, even though she was misguided. He let out a heavy sigh, putting the newspaper down. “Thank you,” he said tersely. That was best he could do. At least he’d been courteous.

“I’m not just flapping my jaw like an old hag.”

Sutton couldn’t help but laugh.

Agatha glared at him and looked like she might say more, but shook her head instead. In an adroit motion, she slid the spatula underneath a stack of pancakes and placed them on Sutton’s plate. Next, she put the bacon, whipped cream, and syrup on the table.

Sutton was no longer hungry, but he’d go through the motions anyway. For Doug’s sake.

He was about to dig in when Agatha touched his shoulder. “Have I taught you nothing?”

“Excuse me?”

“The prayer.”

“Oh, yeah.” Agatha was a stickler for prayer. “Would you say it?” The last thing he wanted to do was pray right now.

“Of course.” She folded her arms and began with the usual passages, thanking God for the food and their blessings. He expected her to close, but instead, she paused for three full seconds. When she continued, her voice was fervent, pleading.

“Dear God. Please bless Sutton. He’s a good man, despite his hard heart, and he’s been through a heap of rubbish. Help him to find his way. Show him you care and work a miracle in him to penetrate that hard old heart. Please, Lord, give him peace.” She ended the prayer with a hearty, “Amen.”

“Amen,” Sutton repeated gruffly as he swallowed an unexpected ball of emotion lodged in his throat. What was peace? He hadn’t felt it in years.

“Dig in,” Agatha said, patting his shoulder.