Grace walked into her father's bedroom. She hadn't been in here since the night her mother died, something which would have made her emotional to begin with. The fact that her father was now lying on the bed right where her mother had passed away, and that he looked nearly dead himself, was her undoing. Tears spilled from her eyes onto her cheeks and she wiped them away with the backs of her hands.

When did he get so old? In her mind, he was as formidable now as he had been her whole life, but reality struck her in stark contrast. The old man on the bed was not formidable in any way.

He was frail.

He was sick.

He was dying.

She made her way to the edge of the bed. He couldn’t die yet. They had too much unsettled between them, too much to fix in the time they had left, and the possibility that her relationship with her father would never be mended struck Grace in the face.

I should have tried harder to get along with him. He just wanted me to do a good job, do the right thing, be a good person. She wiped at her runny nose. Her father opened his eyes. They were gray and watery and for a minute he didn't seem to realize she was there.

"Hi, Daddy." Her voice cracked and she wished she could stifle these emotions, hide from him just how upset she really was, but that thought only had her crying harder.

"Gracie." He reached for her hand, his grip surprisingly strong.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked. It was the question that had been haunting her since she’d spoken with her father's physician. Her father knew he was ill. He'd known for some time.

"It wasn't important."

"It was important to me. There's so much I need to say to you, and now we don't have much time."

"I'm sorry, honey. For what I said about Nico."

Your bastard child.

His eyes drifted closed. "He's beautiful, my grandson."

Those simple words were the only balm her soul needed, and they washed over her like the highest praise. "I'm sorry I didn't listen to you more, and that I haven't been so nice to you since Mom passed away."

"I understood. She was your favorite."

Now Grace was the one hanging on tightly. "No, Daddy. You were. I loved Mom so much, but she was easy to love. I always wanted to be like you."

She watched as tears spilled from his eyes and rolled back into the pillow. She'd never seen him cry, not even when her mother died.

"I know what you're thinking," he said. "I cried for her every night. Just because you didn't see me doesn't mean I didn't love her."

"I know you did." Grace looked at their joined hands and it struck her how time had flown by, taking hers from that of a little girl to a grown woman, and her father’s from a young man to an old one. Each of them had a limited amount of time on this earth to do with what they wanted. Every moment counted.

She was grateful her parents had loved each other. Had each other to share this life with.

Just like I love Matteo.

She covered her mouth with her hand. Hadn’t she known it for quite some time now? Since the first night she’d let him sleep in her bed on the other side of the baby?

They made a little family, and for too long, she’d told herself it was the fantasy she was falling in love with, not the man. But it wasn't true, she could see that now. It was the other way around. She'd been falling in love with the man and the fantasy they’d created. That perfect little family was real if she would let it be.

She just needed her son back and she would have everything she’d ever wanted.

"I need you to do something for me," said her father. "For all of us."

“All of us?” There had only been the two of them for so long.

"I want you to run for the presidency in my place.”

She shook her head frantically. "You're going to be okay. You're going to pull through this."

"Even if that were true, I collapsed on television in front of the nation. I can hide this no longer. It was never my intention to lie. I just had to make sure the bad guy didn't win. I did what I did to protect this country."

"I know you did."

"But now I can't do it any longer. It's up to you." He looked at her pointedly.

"I'm not a politician. I don't have the experience—"

"The people love you, perhaps even more than me. You are well versed in the topics required of the presidency, pruned for this since you were a little girl discussing politics over breakfast. You have watched me do this job, helped me do this job, and you are ready to do it yourself now."

He believed in her.

Even more so than him asking to her to take over the run for the presidency, the fact that he believed in her—thought she was capable—was what filled her with awe. How had she ever believed this man didn't love her?

She could do it. She knew she could. When it came to politics, she and her father were of the same mind. She knew just what he wanted for the country, because she wanted it, too. And she realized he was right.

She could do this.

"I'll need your help to guide me," she said. "I don't want you giving up the fight, thinking I'll take care of it, do you understand?"

"It isn’t up to me, Gracie."

"Of course it is. Just tell God that Nico needs his grandfather." She wiped at her tears. “And I need you, too.”

Her father squeezed her hand.

"God willing, Nico will come back to you. But you have a larger family than you realize of people who depend on you. Of those to whom much is given, much is expected, and you have been given a great deal."

She nodded. "I know."

"You've already made great sacrifices. There will be more."

"I know."

"You did a good thing marrying the HERO man. Do you love him?"

"How did you know?"

"I knew he was meant for you when he told me he would not be my spy, that he was your husband first. From then on, it's just been a matter of time.” He patted her hand. “Now you should let your father rest and go tell your husband you wish to marry him for real."

"What if he doesn't feel the same way?"

"Of course he does. And tell him I'd like to see the ceremony, so he better hurry it up."

“I need Nico here with me first.”

“Then go out there and find your boy.”