We spent a couple of hours driving around neighborhoods to get a feel for where we might want to set up house when I asked Christian for a favor. Twenty minutes later, we were parked across the street from the home where I was raised. My eyes started to mist over when I announced, "I'm glad they’re keeping it looking nice, but I don't like the color." I sniffled. "My dad hated brown."

Christian reached across the truck console and grabbed my hand. "I'm having a hard time keeping up with which dad you're referring to."

I could understand his confusion. Grizz was my biological father. Sometimes I referred to him as my father, other times as Dad, and always in private as Grizz. Tommy Dillion was the man who'd raised me, and was technically my stepfather. But I'd only ever called him Dad.

"I'm talking about Tommy," I said softly. "He always thought brown was boring. He was a talented architect, and hated when his clients had their homes or businesses painted brown. He said the color took away from the design. Drabbed it down is what he used to say."

Christian didn't respond, but gave my hand a gentle squeeze to acknowledge he was listening. I swiped at my eyes. "I dream about him a lot. I even fantasize that he's still alive somewhere."

"I was at his funeral all those years ago, Mimi. And so were you."

"And my mom watched Grizz die on the lethal injection table." My phone pinged and I sat up straighter, grateful for the intrusion. "It’s the jewelry store."

Christian shifted the truck into drive and we left the neighborhood I'd instantly and secretly vowed to never visit again.

I never considered myself materialistic. I'd be lying if I didn't admit I couldn't stop looking at my finger. I couldn't fathom what I loved more—the color reminded me of Christian's eyes, and the ring he'd given me on a playground in 1990—or that out of all the rings in the jewelry store, I'd zeroed in on the closest match to the one he'd picked out just hours earlier.

We arrived at the Bears’ home and I was more than relieved to discover that Autumn had already dropped Abby off. I was warmly greeted by Aunt Christy and Uncle Anthony, and ushered into their sizeable but comfortable great room, only to learn that Abby was napping. Minutes later, Christian and I stood over her bed, and watched her tiny chest rise and fall as she slept peacefully.

"She's even more beautiful in person, Christian," I whispered. He'd shown me pictures on his phone after we'd retrieved it from his friend in Jacksonville, but they didn't do justice to the two-and-half-year-old that slept serenely in her toddler princess bed. She had jet-black hair, just like Christian's. Except it wasn't straight like his. Thick and shiny black ringlets framed her heart-shaped face. She had light skin, and her pink lips were slightly moving as if she was talking in her sleep. Her eyes were closed but I knew they were light brown.

"I think I hear Slade and Daisy," Christian said in a low voice as he clutched my elbow and we walked out of Abby's room. His mother had told us that Slade would be coming for dinner, and she'd asked him to pick up Daisy from her dance class on the way. He'd made an excuse about not having time to stop in, but Aunt Christy was persistent and refused to take no for an answer, only telling him they would be celebrating something important and wanted him to be included.

"I'll be a minute," I told Christian as I made my way to the bathroom. I hadn't seen Slade in years. The memory of the last time we'd been in the same room, the one he was apparently standing in now, had jumped to the forefront of my consciousness. I felt like I needed to freshen up before I faced him. I looked in the bathroom mirror and saw barely perceptible smudges beneath my eyes from my mascara starting to smear. I took a tissue and wiped below each one, and then pinched my cheeks for color. I'd left my purse in the great room so I used my fingers to swipe through and fluff my hair. Satisfied there was nothing else I could do to make myself look more presentable, I headed for the room where the family was gathered.

I could hear twelve-year-old Daisy asking, "What's the surprise, Daddy?"

"It must be that Christian made it back from South Carolina unscathed." I recognized Slade's voice. His tone was sarcastic. "Unless we're not counting what happened to his face."

"Don't be rude," Aunt Christy chided. "This couldn't have turned out better if we'd planned it."

"From what you told me before you took off for South Carolina, he did plan it." Again the bite of Slade's words held bitterness.

I entered the room at the same exact time Slade sighed loudly. "I don't have time for this. I've got plans tonight. What's the big surprise?" he asked.

All eyes turned to me as I gave first Slade, then Daisy a wide smile, and sidled up to Christian.

Daisy looked like she might've remembered me, but I couldn't be certain.

"You remember Mimi, don't you, honey?" Aunt Christy asked.

I tore my eyes away from Daisy's expectant face and was met with Slade’s cold stare. Confused, I clutched Christian's arm and returned my focus back to the twelve-year-old who was giving me a toothy grin while admitting, "I kind of remember her."

Sensing the tension, Aunt Christy quickly chimed in, "Daisy, do me a quick favor and check on Abby. I don't think I turned on the baby monitor and I'm pretty sure I didn't put a blanket on her. Can you do those things without waking her up?" She rolled her eyes and said to no one in particular, "Autumn didn't give her a nap. I'll probably have a hard time getting her to sleep tonight."

Daisy nodded, smiling at me as she left the room. I'd barely heard Uncle Anthony speak five words in the past few days, but it was obvious by the tone in his voice that he was not happy with his oldest.

"What's your problem, Slade?" Anthony addressed Slade’s despondency.

"Why is she here?" He nodded in my direction.

All eyes turned my way, and in an awkward attempt to sum up the past several days, I did the only thing I could think of. I held up my left hand and displayed my ring while stammering, "We're to...to...together now." I cleared my throat, and looked at Christian, then Slade.

What happened next was so unexpected I couldn't say it even rivaled my father's reaction to seeing my bruised face at the rental house. I think it was an obvious assumption that Christian was going to receive the wrath of Grizz's anger. But this. This was something nobody could've predicted.

A wail resembling a war cry shattered the silence as Slade reached for the nearest object which looked like a tiara. It had been resting on a shelf, and I would later learn that it was made of iron and had been handcrafted by Uncle Anthony in his workshop over twenty-five years earlier. Slade aimed it directly at my husband's head. Christian shifted to the left as it passed by, narrowly missing him, striking a painting on the wall behind us. The piece of art fell to the floor with a loud thud, but it was nothing compared to the sound made by the tiara hitting and cracking the tile floor.

Aunt Christy screamed as Slade charged Christian, trying to ram his head into Christian's stomach. But Slade's anger and speed were no match for Christian's brawn and street sense. Towering over his older brother, Christian shoved him away with a warning.

"Don't make me kick your ass, bro."

Slade answered by taking a swing that Christian easily deflected with his left arm, while simultaneously using his right fist to connect with Slade's cheek.

Uncle Anthony inserted himself between his sons, trying to keep them apart. While taking in huge gulps of air, Slade's voice was almost unrecognizable when he barked, "I've done it the right way. All of it. Graduated high school with my associates degree. Went to college, became a lawyer. I've always respected our family, and the law. And he"—he pointed at Christian—"barely finishes high school, mutilates a guy, gets a girl pregnant, goes to prison, violates his parole, and brings home an innocent woman from his childhood he doesn’t deserve?"

I was too stunned to think straight. I looked around the room and saw the same expression on his parents’ faces. It was like they were seeing their eldest son for the first time.

"This is what we're celebrating? Christian committed another crime and this time gets rewarded for it? This family is so screwed up!" Slade spat, while swiping the blood from beneath his nose.

Heavy silence hung in the air as we all fumbled for coherent words that didn’t come. I glanced at my husband who stood with his hands clenched into fists. His jaw tightened noticeably. I didn't think it could get worse, but I was wrong.

After checking on Abby, Daisy had run to her bedroom to get pictures of her dance recitals to show me. While she was digging out her photo album, the skirmish had woken up little Abby who toddled out to the great room. She made a soft squeak and I turned to see her standing at the hallway entrance. She was clutching a doll to her chest, and her brown eyes landed on me, Christian, and Slade. Uncle Anthony and Aunt Christy were standing off to the side, blocked by the dining room wall and hidden from Abby’s view. Abby walked toward Christian, and I almost cried in relief. But it was short-lived. Realizing too late that Christian wasn't her grandfather, she stopped abruptly and let out a blood-curdling scream. Christian bent low and held out a hand to her, but she dropped her doll and ran past him, launching herself at Slade's legs. Tilting her face upward, she reached her tiny hands into the air and said to her uncle, "Uppy. Uppy, Sway."

Slade bent down and picked her up while his eyes shot daggers at Christian.

My heart ached for Christian. He grabbed my hand and, pulling me toward the front door, said, "C'mon, baby. Let’s get out of here."