Flames licked at the logs, the oranges and reds casting a glow as gentle and hypnotizing as the heat drifting from the fireplace. Sammie usually found the sight to be soothing. Relaxing. Tonight should be no different.

Family was gathered in the large Victorian farmhouse, children chattering and laughing, adults talking in low tones, plans being made for the annual tree-cutting expedition and good-natured arguments over which child would be responsible for putting the angel on top once the tree was decorated. Sammie was surrounded by family: her parents; her two sisters and their husbands and kids; her mother's brother and his wife. Dinner was finished, leftovers had been put away, and coffee was brewing for dessert.

Families. Whole and unbroken and happy.

Everyone except her own.

In spite of the noise and togetherness that permeated the house, Sammie felt alone. Isolated. Her mind wasn't on dessert or the annual trek to get the tree, or even the get-together the team was planning for Sunday.

Her mind was on Jon, on everything he had told her last night. She couldn't get the words out of her head, couldn't get the images from her mind. His words hadn't been graphic, and she knew instinctively that he'd deliberately left out details. But what he'd told her was enough—more than enough. It was too easy to imagine what he'd seen and done. Too easy to imagine what he must have felt—what he still felt.

Sammie closed her eyes and tried to banish the images that had plagued her ever since he told her. The images had even haunted her in her sleep—what little sleep she'd had last night.

Worse than the images was the guilt she felt. What had it cost Jon to open up to her like that? She didn't know. And instead of staying around long enough to find out, she had climbed out of his car when he told her to leave and hurried to her own, needing to put space between them, needing to run from the horrifying images flashing in her mind.

And if merely hearing those things had upset her, what had actually experiencing them done to Jon?

No, she owed him nothing. They were no longer married, and he was no longer part of her life—hadn't been for more than two years.

Except that was a lie. Jon would always be part of her life—

Because of Clare.

She glanced over, a small smile spreading across her face as she watched her daughter help her cousins build something out of blocks. Clare's assistance generally involved knocking the blocks over after they reached a certain height, then giggling as her cousins set them up again.

Did she see any of Jon in their daughter? Clare had Sammie's curly hair and wide brown eyes. The shape of her mouth was almost identical to Sammie's mother's. Everyone always commented how much Clare resembled Sammie that she never looked for anything of Jon in her.

Watching her daughter now, she wondered if she had deliberately ignored the small resemblances, or if she had simply been blind to them. Because there were resemblances: the structure of Clare's cheekbones, finally emerging as she got older; the set of her eyes, so similar to Jon's; the shape of her nose, showing more than a hint of her father.

The father Clare had never seen, not since she was only a few months old.

The father who was afraid to see her because he was convinced he was a monster. Afraid that seeing her or holding her would somehow taint her.

Sammie blinked back the tears burning her eyes and turned her gaze to the fire. Jon had missed his daughter's first tooth, first word. He had missed Clare learning to crawl and walk. He had no idea what it felt like to hold his daughter's warm body against him as he read her a bedtime story, to hear her gentle breathing as she fell asleep or to kiss her soft cheek as he tucked her in.

Because he was convinced he was a monster.

Sammie couldn't wrap her head around it. How could he think that? What he'd done—those were things he'd had to do to survive. Would he have rather died over there? Couldn't he see that he hadn't had a choice?

Maybe he did. Sammie didn't know. He had never bothered to talk to her about it, had never bothered to give them a chance to work through it.

Had never bothered giving her the chance to support him.

Had never given her a choice.

Did that mean he should never be part of Clare's life?

No.

But shouldn't he be the one to make the first move?

As much as Sammie would like to say yes, she knew he never would, not after everything he'd told her. She didn't want to understand his reasoning, didn't want to sympathize, but she did.

No matter what may have happened between them, no matter how much he had hurt her by walking away the way he had, he didn't deserve to be estranged from his own daughter.

Sammie sighed and leaned her head against the sofa, her gaze drifting over to her own father. Big, loud, larger than life. Always there for his family. A rock, even in times of upheaval—like her and her sisters' teenage years. Sammie tried to imagine what life would have been like growing up without her father. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't. Her father had been too large an influence on her life. He still was.

Didn't Clare deserve the same thing?

But what if Sammie did this, and Jon walked away again? He'd done it once, nothing was stopping him from doing it again.

But what if he didn't do it again? Was it right for her to take that chance away from him and his daughter?

Sammie wished she could talk to someone about this, wished there was someone she could discuss her fears and hopes with, someone who would listen and play devil's advocate and give her advice. But there wasn't anyone.

She glanced over at the family gathered in the large dining room, laughing and talking. She couldn't ask her sisters or their husbands, they would never understand. And certainly not her parents. Sammie had never told them all the details, but that wouldn't make a difference—they were firmly anti-Jon at the moment, had been since she moved back here, freshly divorced with a six-month-old infant and no place to call home.

And she couldn't talk to any of her teammates, not about this. Taylor was convinced she should just move on. Shannon thought she needed closure before moving on. And the others…well, none of them really knew the details, and Sammie had no plans to tell them.

Which meant the decision was hers, and hers alone.

"Hey, Boo. Come here with Mommy."

Clare looked up from the block tower she had been ready to knock over then frowned. And oh God, that was Jon's frown, no doubt about it. Sammie swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat then forced a smile to her face.

"Don't even think about saying no, young lady. Come here, Mommy wants to ask you something."

The frown disappeared from Clare's face and she hurried over to Sammie, jumping in her lap with a quiet giggle and wrapping her small arms around Sammie's neck. "What, Mommy?"

"You feel like going for a ride with Mommy?"

Clare laughed then jumped up and down, making Sammie wince when one of her feet connected with her kneecap. "Yes. Yes, yes, yes."

"Go get your shoes and some toys while I get ready." Sammie dropped a kiss on the top of Clare's head before she scampered off then pushed herself up from the floor. Both of her parents watched her as she moved toward the kitchen, their gazes curious and questioning.

"You didn't tell us you had plans, dear."

"Um, yeah. I didn't before." Sammie tossed a smile at her mom then grabbed a large, flat container from one of the cabinets and started going through the leftovers. Turkey. Stuffing. Mashed potatoes and gravy. Sauerkraut and kielbasa. Two rolls. No, make that three.

Her father moved into the kitchen and leaned against the counter, his arms crossed in front of him. His dark eyes followed her as she grabbed another container, smaller this time.

"Sam, what exactly are you doing?"

"Just, um, putting some food together, that's all." She spooned out some cranberry sauce, added a few slices of cold ham and a couple deviled eggs, tossed in some of the raw veggies from the platter in the refrigerator.

"Who's the food for?"

"Um—" Sammie focused on snapping the lids on both containers, trying to figure out how to answer. She didn't want to lie to her parents, but she didn't feel like getting a lecture, either.

"Samantha. What, exactly, are you doing?"

She winced at her father's use of her full name then turned to face him, hoping there wouldn't be a battle over this. "I'm taking Clare to see her father. I thought I'd take some food with me."

Silence greeted her words. Not just silence from her parents, but from her sisters and their husbands, as well. Her mother pushed away from the table and hurried toward them, placing a steadying hand on her father's arm. One glance at their faces told Sammie all she needed to know.

"No. Absolutely not."

Her mother squeezed her father's arm, either reassuring him or trying to silence him, then turned back to Sammie. "I don't think that's a good idea, dear."

"Probably not," Sammie agreed. She placed both containers into a large carry-tote and zipped it up. "But I'm doing it anyway."

"I don't—"

"Dad, please. It's something I need to do, okay?"

"Are you thinking about getting back with him?"

"No." Sammie shook her head. Of that, she was positive. This wasn't about her. This wasn't about a reconciliation. This was about Clare, nothing else. She told them that, her voice as clear and adamant as she could make it. But she saw the doubt in their eyes and readied herself for more objections, wondering if this was going to lead to a huge family squabble.

Clare came running in, dragging her small backpack behind her and holding one tiny shoe up. "Ready, Mommy!"

Sammie laughed, grateful for the distraction. She scooped Clare up and sat her on the counter, then busied herself with untying the knot in the shoe and getting it on her daughter's foot.

"You're making a mistake—"

"Dad, I know—"

"I forbid you to leave this house."

Sam blinked, her mouth hanging open in surprise. She snapped it closed, darted a glance toward her mother, then looked back at her father. "Dad, I'm twenty-four. You can't forbid me to do anything."

"As long as you live in my house—"

"Dennis. Stop." Her mother's calm voice eased some of the tension that had spiked at her father's words. "Sammie, you need to think about what you're doing. Think about the possible repercussions—"

"I have, Mom. This is something I need to do. Okay?" She held her mother's gaze for several long minutes, silently willing her to understand. Did she? Sammie wasn't sure. How could she expect her mother to understand, when she wasn't sure she understood herself? But her mother slowly nodded, although the worry was still clear in her eyes.

Sammie heaved a sigh of relief then lowered Clare to the floor and grabbed the tote filled with leftovers. "I won't be too late."

She ushered Clare to the door, bundled her in her coat and hat and mittens, then shrugged into her own coat and gloves before moving outside.

It wasn't until she reached the end of the long driveway that she realized she had no idea where Jon lived.