Sometimes life takes such a sharp, crazy turn so far outside your ordinary experience, it moves the entire world. And not just the earth, but the moon, the stars, the sun above, and whole galaxies. The whole landscape I thought I knew shifts, merging with the endless sky.

It's been weeks since Knox confessed his love. The white knuckle diamonds on my finger are actually starting to make me feel like the future Mrs. Carlisle.

We're close to the end of the scorching summer and fierce monsoon, inching ever closer to Labor Day and the slow, but steady autumn balm that drifts across the valley.

Life goes on, different and better than before.

The smile on his face isn't so strange and alien anymore. Lizzie clings to me like a second shadow when he isn't around, showing me her best alongside the adorable little faults.

I'm working up the courage for the two big dinners later this week, when we'll break the news to my parents, and then his mom and Jamie over the weekend.

I had to drop a million hints I want this done, whatever the danger that might or might not be out there still. We haven't had so much as an angry word or a death threat from Victor Wright. Knox's contacts at the company say he spends most his days in Vegas, only flying back to the headquarters here in Phoenix for pressing matters.

Knox is talking to his lawyer, gearing up for a formal truce, something to formalize what we desperately hope is true: the creep has given up, and soon we'll be free to get on with our lives.

Even if he hasn't, we're not waiting. We have a hard wedding date in mind, sometime in November. I want it with my very soul. Want it in a way I never knew I could want anything.

In the meantime, until our families know the good news, I content myself with another unexpected consequence of falling in love.

I'm producing my best work. I've taken the glass slipper design Gannon tried to steal and owned it, reaching out to major fashion contacts in New York and Los Angeles. They love the design so much I haven't even had to lean on the Carlisle reputation.

There's nothing better than climbing the hills, peering at far off mountains yet to conquer. Oh, except for this new life as the soon-to-be Kendra Carlisle, where I've learned to kick ass harder, and there's always a spring in my step with a loving man and a delightful little girl. Family means more than any career coup.

I'm in the auxiliary workspace he's given me on his property, listening to the radio. It's mid-day. Knox won't be home for a few more hours. He's downtown, drafting the inquiry to Victor with his lawyer, crafting the language as precisely as he says he needs to get a response.

The lovely studio on the third floor is where I do most of my work, but since it's a little cooler today, this converted garden shed lets me enjoy the lush outdoors around his estate.

It's also a delightful place to make sure Lizzie stays easily entertained while I put the finishing flourishes on my prototype glass shoes. I think I've finally found a solution for keeping feet equally comfortable in the valley's desert heat, or the cold in Minneapolis. A thin scrap of breathable thermal insulation I've installed this morning on the inside should, in theory, stop my poor toes from overheating or freezing to death.

But I won't know for sure until I take a walk. First, I slip into the shoes, and then walk over to the corner, where Lizzie is coloring with her finger on an app. She's filling in an orange tiger on her kiddie tablet.

“Ready for a walk and a fresh orange, peanut? You've been mighty busy over here all afternoon.” I stoop down, rubbing her back.

She looks up at me, smacking her lips. “OJ? Yeahhh! Just lemme finish tiger, mommy.”

I'm done when I hear those words. No matter how many times it happens, it still never fails to bring a wet heat to my eyes. Rifling my fingers through her hair, I sit, watching as she finishes her picture, filling in the tiger's black stripes. Only four years old, and her work ethic already mirrors mine.

She really could be my daughter.

Hell, as far as I'm concerned, she is. My stomach growls when the precious thing sits up, and grasps my hand. I'm looking forward to one of the fresh oranges off his tree myself. There's five different kinds to choose from, and I think I'll go for the biggest, sweetest ones today.

We take the grey stone path straight through the gardens. It's well kept and gorgeous, just like the man who owns it. A maze of desert brush, ferns, cacti, and palm trees in the distance. Citrus is the true star of this show, though, gently fanning our senses with its fragrance, stronger the closer we get.

We're halfway to the edge of the orange trees when I stop and look down at my feet. They're...amazingly cool. And in direct sunlight.

Holy crap. I did it.

I break into a smile, picking up the pace, knowing each bite of that orange is guaranteed to taste like sweet victory. I can't wait to tell Knox the news, and get another pair of these babies made. I'll send the new ones to an old college friend in Minnesota, Chelsea. There's no better proving ground for how my creation holds up in winter, and the many training grounds for hockey means she'll be able to get me a good report in the next week or two.

Then it's time to market the hell out of my hard work.

Lizzie skips ahead as far as I'll let her, holding my hand, humming in the sing-song way children do. I join her, trying to match the tune, laughing because I can't. It doesn't matter. I'm too busy wondering if I died sometime in the last few months and wound up in heaven without knowing it.

When we reach the oranges, Lizzie's eyes bug out. She flies from my grip, running forward. I rush after her, following to where she stops and points at the huge, ripe fruits swaying overhead. “There, there!”

I can't remember the last day like this.

It's peaceful, marvelous, and perfect.

I reach up, retrieving two plump oranges. One for the little girl, and for myself. Carefully opening the peel with the carving knife I left in my pocket from the studio, I hand Lizzie hers. Thumbing back the skin on mine, I lean low, inhaling its delicious promise.

I'm just about to take a bite when there's a loud rap on the gate next to us. Lizzie looks up, startled, orange juice dripping down her chin. I think it's an animal, at first, but no beast stands an even five feet at the gate, just a few inches shorter than me.

It's a woman. She's dressed in more white than I've ever seen outside a high end fashion show. It completely covers her; one long, layered dress complete with a wide ivory hat, broken only by a tuft of hair near her shoulders and the black pools of her sunglasses, obscuring her eyes.

“Who the scary lady?” Lizzie chirps, giving an anxious voice to the same question in my head.

What. The. Hell? Or who?

I'm on edge. It's probably nothing. Just a wandering neighbor from the other big houses in the hills, where money makes people eccentric. Or maybe some poor soul whose car broke down in the desert. Still, it takes me several seconds to move my knees, surrounding the little girl's hand in a tighter grip.

“Easy, peanut. Let me do the talking, please,” I whisper, hopefully out of earshot while we approach the intruder.

“Can I help you?” I ask, not liking how it's so hard to see her face.

“Important business call with Mr. Carlisle, actually. Forgive the interruption – no one answered when I rang the doorbell. I saw the car in the driveway and thought I'd take a quick walk to see if there's anyone home.”

Why does this voice sound so familiar? I can't place it. I'm officially weirded out, but she seems harmless. Lizzie stirs at my side, clinging close to me, careful to remain well inside the palm tree's shade above.

Maybe it's truly business. I'm well aware the jewelry industry attracts some weirdos. She's well attired, at least, and not too twitchy.

“Miss, please,” the woman says, fanning herself. The Coach purse at her side swings loosely on her shoulder. “It's Hades hot out here...and it's been a long walk.”

“Of course,” I say, deciding there's no clear threat. Just my mind playing tricks. “I'll meet you at the main gate in about five minutes. Give me a second to get her inside.”

Nodding, the woman smiles, looking past me to the little girl. I grab Lizzie's hand again and lead her back through the gardens and into the house, her little hand sticky from the orange. I bring her to the family room and grab a bowl. Then I finish peeling her snack, and tell her to stay put on the sofa for a couple minutes while I meet the nice lady.

Please, God, don't let the nice part be wishful thinking. If it is, I won't let my trust get Lizzie in trouble, too. I tell myself I'm being paranoid. Surely, it's just business, like she says. Or else some annoying missionary from one of the weird, but harmless new age cults who sometimes cross over from California, trawling Phoenix's money for converts and big donations.

I wait by the door to the guard shack for several minutes. I see a white sedan with gold trim parked down the road, probably the woman's car, a basic luxury model well equipped for the heat.

It's unstaffed, like it usually is during the day. Knox says he's fine with just a night crew for security, considering the rugged terrain between here and the rest of Phoenix.

That's why it takes her awhile to reach the main gate. I'm already hitting the switch to open it when I see her. We take the shaded pathway up to the house, where I stop her outside the door, motioning to the shaded white bench on the porch.

“So, what's up? Is there a message you'd like to leave for Knox or...?”

The woman crosses her arms and frowns, refusing to sit next to me. “Not a message, per se.”

What do you really want, lady? It's my turn to shoot her a sour look, waiting for her to get on with it.

She paces like a bird in front of me, releasing a slow, pent up sigh. “Incredible. You really don't recognize me, do you?”

I watch as she reaches up, taking off her oversized sunglasses, and then the wide-brimmed hat. There's a purple skunk stripe in her shiny black locks.

It takes a moment for my brain to catch up to what I'm seeing. Then nausea floods my system like poison and my knees start shaking. Panic time.

“Nah, I suppose you don't. We met like once at the bar, or maybe a mutual friend's house. Damn, I really wish Knox were here for this. Oh, well.” The grin on her face gets wider, more vicious. I'm about to vomit even before I hear the death sentence from her lips. “My name's Sam Wright. I'm here to bring my daughter home.”

This is that part in a movie where time slows to a crawl, the reel goes screwy, and I hit my knees, fading to black from the shock. The first three happen in quick succession, but nothing could make me pass out when the next part of the disaster begins.

It starts with a tiny little voice whispering excitedly through the screen. “Mommy, I'm scared!”

“There you are, precious.” Sam may be dressed in white, but she moves like a raven. I watch her swoop in, numb to my own senses, fighting to struggle to my feet while the invader bitch grabs the door. “Come to mama!”

“No! No, no, no, no, no...” My vision goes red. My throat splits in two. My tongue is a dagger, desperate for blood.

I catch myself on the brink. Jesus. I can't scare Lizzie when the last thread in my brain finally snaps.

Rushing forward, I stop just short of tackling the psycho bitch. If she didn't have her dirty hands on my little girl already, on the priceless little person Knox trusted me with, I'd do terrible things.

But Lizzie is in her arms, confusion and sadness exploding across her tiny face.

“Let her go, leave, and I won't have to call the police,” I say, making her the only offer she'll get.

“You're a feisty one, aren't you? My, I see some things haven't changed with Knox's taste in women –“

“We're nothing alike,” I growl. I put my soul into those words.

“Yeah, whatever. If you say so, bitch.” Sam goes back to ignoring me, bouncing the increasingly nervous looking little girl in her arms. “Listen, before you do anything stupid, do us both a favor: reach into my purse. Should be unzipped. There's a nice folded paper there that should clear this up, assuming you don't want me to do the tattling down at the Phoenix P.D.”

I don't know what she's talking about. My fingers plunge into her purse. I don't have to sift around to find the paper. It unfurls neatly in my fingers.

My eyes skim the words. Each phrase sticking in my brain is lethal.

Arizona district court. By order of Judge Nancy H. Willingston...

Full custody of Elizabeth Jayne Carlisle be turned over...

The rightful mother and guardian, Samantha Victoria Wright...

Until such time as proper visitation rights are determined in a court of law...

Fuck time. It's broken, shattered beyond repair, and it's completely run out for me.

My knees hit the ground so hard it chatters my teeth before I see the evil witch turn her back, and start down the path toward the gate. My foot twists unevenly under me, banging something hard. Glass shards scrape concrete.

So much for being durable. I've chipped my left slipper. The next time I beat my foot into the pavement, I feel the force of glass breaking, coming to pieces like an eggshell wrapped around my toes. Safety glass shouldn't cut, but they do. The abrasions skip my skin completely and go to my heart, tearing me apart from the inside-out.

Before I hear Lizzie cry, I'm sobbing helplessly, sorrow and rage blistering my cheeks because I know if I make a single move, it'll probably be the wrong one, and we'll lose her forever.

Before I hear the white car's engine and see it flash by as it descends the mountain, I try to contemplate how I'll even explain what just happened to Knox.

I can't.

There are no words.

I'm numb. Scared. Alone.

How is it even possible to have everything I thought I'd won ripped away from me in a matter of minutes?

* * *

Of course, he's not answering his phone. I only send twenty desperate texts and leave five crying voicemails before I breakdown and get a hold of his lawyer.

I tell Charlie what happened. He's no nonsense, all brass tacks. I try to give him details, a physical description, read the words on that awful fucking page, but I can't.

Words won't come.

I'm too blinded by tears to see them clearly. My voice is certainly too broken to repeat them. I tell him, for the love of God, to make sure he reaches Knox. I need him home.

It's an agonizing wait. The better part of an hour before his truck roars into the spacious garage, a loud bang sounding before he kills the engine. He's probably in such a rush to find out how wrecked our lives are that he isn't driving safely.

I'm more scared than ever. If this is bad enough to break his ten year combat discipline, what the hell will it do to me?

Worse, it's barely begun.

“Goddamn. Fuck. Kendra?!” His entrance tells me I'm not alone in my inability to form complete sentences. It's a small comfort when he steps forward, swoops me against his shoulder, and crushes the air out of my lungs in the sternest embrace ever. “I came as soon as I heard. Are you okay?”

I nod, shaking my head against his chest. His grip eases once he's satisfied I'm telling the truth.

“We'll find our way out of this, Sunflower. Don't worry. Need you to sit and tell me everything.”

I nod, more functional than I've been for the past hour with his love. I just might survive the interrogation next.

We sit near his unlit fireplace, a frigid glass of water trembling in my hand, while I very calmly try going over the facts.

Yes, she showed up out of nowhere.

Yes, she put her dirty hands on our little girl, took her through the gate, and strapped her into the booster seat she had waiting in that car.

No – Jesus, no – I couldn't do anything.

I couldn't and I wanted to. I'd have given my life to stop that woman, if only she didn't have the key to paralysis.

Knox snatches the court order from my hands and reads at least three times, until he's satisfied it's authentic.

“After all this time,” he says, shaking his head, running stiff fingers over his face. “I can't believe I didn't see it. The countless detectives, long nights searching, weekends lost in LA combing through homeless shelters...all for fucking nothing. She wasn't dead. She's been out there this whole time, waiting to screw me over and take Lizzie.”

“We don't know that,” I say, leaning forward, grasping his hand. I rub his thick, calloused palms, trying to be comforting. “She could've shown up on a whim. Maybe Wright knew where she was the entire time. Could've had her stuffed away in some clinic. Maybe he had her fixed and cleaned up just in time to get to us the only way he could. Maybe –“

“Stop. What's the point? All the what-ifs in the world aren't bringing her back. The time for asking how ended the second she stepped on this property and got what she wanted. Nothing left to do but stop her. I need to talk to Charlie.”

That bitter lump is in my throat again. Slowly, I nod, clinging to his hand. I don't want to let go. I'm terrified where we'll fall if I do. “Do you want me with?”

“Yeah,” he whispers, quiet and introspective. Then his eyes flick to mine, bright as crystal sky. “You know I do, darling. You're part of this family. Always will be, no matter what.”

He drags my hand to his lips. The kiss he plants on my skin dashes the darkness inside me, if only for a few scarce seconds. “Let me grab my purse.”

On our way out, he pauses for a second near the door, kicking the shattered pile of my slipper gently with his toe. “Shit. You mean you lost –“

“It's not important,” I say, hiding my tears. “I can always make more shoes. I can't sculpt another Lizzie.” He nods, and we're off.

It's a long, congested drive downtown. We ride on in silence, listening to soft rock piping through his speakers for comfort. I don't know why this feels so heavy, so dangerous, like a boulder hanging overhead, ready to crush us.

Lizzie's absence is suffocating. I try not to cry, to be strong for him, but the small, caring looks he gives me when we're stopped at each intersection leaves tiny cuts on my heart.

I can only take so many before I snap.

But as bad as this is, it's no time for panic.

I take deep breaths, wiping my tears, losing more than I'd like when Knox grabs my hand and whispers. “This'll be over soon. I never let the things that really matter get away. Never.”

I know what time it really is. It's the moment I realize how spectacular love is when hearts pace to tragedy. Every beat, every second, every glance more alive and scary and beautiful than every day of life before it.

More real than the evil anyone could ever do.

Whatever happens next, I promise I won't break. I'll be strong for him, for myself, for the family I'm not letting go. Damn it, we will bring her home.