"It must have felt wonderful to learn the truth from your mother." Dr. Williams smiled.

"It did," Sheridan said, a smile inching up her own cheeks. "It felt like this huge burden I have carried around for years was finally lifted off my shoulders."

"It has been," Dr. Williams observed. "You should be proud of yourself—I know it took a lot of courage for you to have that conversation."

"I was just so afraid that I would be stirring up traumatic memories for her," Sheridan said. "She's been through so much already."

"It's wonderful that you can feel so much empathy for her," Dr. Williams said. "I hope you understand that her issues are not yours to deal with, though—your job is to take care of yourself."

"That's what my mother said." Sheridan picked at her sweater. "She said that I should ask her whatever I needed to ask her—that I wasn't responsible for whatever reaction she might have."

Dr. Williams smiled. "She's right about that, Sheridan—no person is responsible for any other person's feelings."

Her brow furrowing, Sheridan looked up at Dr. Williams. "But what exactly does that mean?"

"It's a lot for some people to wrap their heads around—" Dr. Williams said, "—especially when they've been abused. If you get used to living with the burden of feeling like you're responsible for other people's feelings—that it's your job to make sure that they are happy—it becomes a hard pattern to recognize—and an even harder pattern to break."

"What if there's someone you can never make happy?" Sheridan half laughed, half cried.

"That's a sign of emotional abuse," Dr. Williams explained. "Being made to feel like you're not good enough. Like you have no value if the abuser's not happy—that you don't matter just for being you."

"That's how I've always felt around my father," Sheridan admitted. "As a child, I kept trying and trying to do something that would please him, but I never could seem to get it quite right."

"That must have been very hard to deal with as a small child," Dr. Williams said.

Sheridan wiped a tear from her eye. "It made me feel worthless. No matter what I did, it never made him happy. I was nothing but a disappointment to him."

"That must have been very lonely," Dr. Williams said.

"It was." Sheridan hung her head. "I've been lonely for most of my life."

"That must have been very difficult for you."

"It was." Sheridan hugged her arms to her chest. "Each man I dated was more horrible to me than the last one had been—no matter how much love I showed him."

"One might say you were repeating the same pattern you learned from your relationship with your father," Dr. Williams observed.

"I've never thought of it that way." Sheridan looked up, realization rising in her voice. "But you're right—I've probably been repeating that pattern with almost all of the men I've dated, doing whatever I could to please them just so that they would love me."

A newfound understanding dawned in Sheridan's eyes. "In fact, even Luis didn't really start to chase me until I broke up with him. But the second I decided to put myself first and left him for—well, for thinking that he was using me—all of a sudden, he couldn't seem to stop trying to prove how much I mattered to him."

Dr. Williams smiled. "So essentially by breaking a self-destructive pattern of trying to make other people happy, you found true happiness?"

Sheridan's face lit up. Blinking back fresh tears, she smiled down at her belly and caressed the spot where her daughter lay. "Yes—I really did."


"Luis, can I ask you a question?" Hank shot a basket, turning to look at Luis as the ball bounced off the rim.

"You need to work on your jump shots," Luis laughed. "You're really shooting bricks today."

Hank laughed, grabbed the ball, and thrust it at Luis. "That's not what I'm talking about, man."

Luis caught the ball and looked at Hank. "Relax, buddy. What's gotten you so wound up?"

"I'm sorry." Hank nudged the floor with his foot. "I just have a lot on my mind."

"I can see that." Luis sat down on the bench and took a sip of his water. "What's stressing you out like this?"

"It's just . . . well . . ." Hank looked up at Luis. "When you decided to propose to Sheridan, did you ever worry that the ring you were planning to give her wasn't going to be good enough?"

"You mean my grandmother's ring?" Luis raised his brows, a smile inching up his face. "Wait—does this mean what I think it means? Are you going to propose to Gwen?"

"Yes, maybe . . . oh, I don't know." Hank shook his head. "And I didn't mean to diss your grandmother's ring."

"I know you didn't." Luis laughed and rubbed his chin. "And—to answer your question—yes, I was nervous. Sheridan could have bought herself the Hope Diamond if she wanted to. Of course I was anxious that any ring I gave her just wouldn't measure up."

Hank sat down next to Luis. "How did you get over that?"

"Well," Luis laughed, "it took a little while, but I reminded myself over and over again that Sheridan doesn't care about those things. That the reason she loves me is because I am who I am—not because of what I do or don't have in the bank."

Hank nodded. "Yeah, you're definitely right about that."

"Hank—I've seen Gwen with you," Luis said. "She seems to feel the same way."

"Yeah, I know." Hank shrugged his shoulders. "I just don't want to disappoint her—I love this woman more than my own life."

"I know you do." Luis clamped one hand down on Hank's shoulder. "And it's going to be okay. Gwen's going to love whatever you get her."

"I know you're right—and sometimes, I feel like none of this money stuff matters." Hank sighed and buried his head in his hands. "But what if it does, Luis?"


His heart heavy in his chest, Julian inched up his eyes as Sheridan slipped into the living room, humming softly to herself. "Sheridan—what's got you in such a good mood?"

"I just had the most amazing discussion. . ." Sheridan beamed, her smile fading as she took in the sight of his slumped form. "Julian—what happened?" she asked. "Why do you look so upset?"

"It's nothing." Julian cleared his throat. "If you're looking for Mother, she's upstairs."

"Well, I was," Sheridan admitted, "but I can talk to her later if there's something bothering you." Cradling one hand under her belly, Sheridan studied him. "You don't have to pretend with me."

Julian locked eyes with her for a moment—and then buried his face in his hands. "Eve broke up with me."

"Oh, Julian," Sheridan gasped.

"It's okay. If anything, I deserve to feel pain like this." Julian peeked through his fingers. "I've done so many unspeakable things."

"But those are all things that you might not have done without Father," Sheridan insisted, lowering herself down onto the couch.

Julian looked up. "I might have done so many things differently if it hadn't been for him. But that doesn't change the fact that I did what I did."

"No . . ." Sheridan shifted in her seat and curled her fingers around the front of her belly. "But it doesn't mean that you deserve to be miserable for the rest of your life—or that you can't start over again."

"I thought that was what I was doing—at least for a little while," Julian said. "But now, with Eve gone, I've lost my muse—my reason for trying to be a better man."

Sheridan furrowed her brow. "Is that really true, Julian?"

"What do you mean?" Julian fixed his eyes on hers.

Sheridan fiddled with her rings. "Well—you weren't involved with Eve when you stood up to Father when he first tried to kill me."

"No, I guess I wasn't," Julian acknowledged.

"That's exactly what I mean." Sheridan pushed her rings back into place and sat up straighter. "That person who did that—he's always been inside of you, itching to come out—to stand up to Father's cruelty."

"Yes, I suppose so." Julian shrugged.

"You need to give yourself some credit," Sheridan maintained. "Father certainly didn't make things easy for you. He didn't make things easy for either one of us. He was constantly trying to make us earn his love—to prove that we were worthy of his attention."

"Yes, I suppose that he was," Julian conceded. "But, still, as a teenager and a young man, I should have known better. I should have resisted him long before I did."

"How?" Sheridan asked. "Somewhere inside, you must have believed that if you did everything Father wanted, he'd finally love you."

"I always felt like I was this close to pleasing him," Julian said. "It was like he was constantly dangling his approval out in front of me like a trinket on a gold chain—a chain that seemed to give him some sadistic pleasure every time he yanked it away."

"I would say 'I know what you mean,' but Father didn't even pretend to care about me." Sheridan frowned. "For the longest time, I seriously thought something was fundamentally wrong with me. It never even occurred to me that the real problem lay with him."

"There was never anything wrong with you, Sheridan." Julian's eyes flew to hers. "Father and I were fools to treat you like we did."

Tears welled in Sheridan's eyes. "The same could be said for the way Father treated you."

"The thing is—you rose above it. I didn't." Julian rubbed his hands over his face. "Now, you have an abundance of love in your life—and I barely know what that is."

"That's not true," Sheridan said. "There are a lot of people who love you. Me, Mother, Fancy, Pretty, and Fox . . ."

"Fancy, Pretty, and Fox?" Julian scoffed. "I doubt they'd even pick up my calls."

"Have you tried calling them?" Sheridan asked.

"No—what's the point?" Julian said. "I've already destroyed any chance I probably had at a relationship with them."

"You don't know that." Sheridan smiled, her voice thickening with emotion. "Just because Father was cruel and distant with us, that doesn't mean we have to pass that down. We can make different choices with our kids."