"Joe, meet your daughter Hope." I carefully addressed my belly in an equally serious tone. "Hope, this is your daddy."

And the dust motes stood still, suspended in the air once again. The silence was broken only by the steady beat of Hope's tiny heart. It was another moment that I knew would be etched on my memory until the day I breathed my last. If Black Thursday had been a low point in my life, and God knew there had been many over the years, then this magical Friday evening would live on forever as one of the high points. I was afraid to blink, afraid to shatter the fragile wonder of watching Joe's face light up when he felt his daughter move for the very first time. Whatever the future brought, this one perfect moment would sustain me, and I felt tears sting my eyes at the absolute perfection of that tiny slice of my life. If it was true what people said about God being in the details, then surely He was here with us in that plain hospital room. In Joe's face and Hope's infinitesimal movements, I caught a small quiet glimpse of eternity, and I felt the inherent rightness of the moment enfold my bruised soul like a benison.

"My God, that's amazing," Joe whispered. "She's amazing."

I just sniffled, too overcome to speak. That was the story of my life. Gifted with one of the most special moments in my life and not a tissue to be found anywhere. Figures.

Suddenly Joe's face took on a serious mein. The closed-off cop face shuttered his features, and I felt a wall drop between us. "We have to figure this out," he said quietly.

I took a calm, steadying breath. "There's really not a lot to figure out, Joe." I rushed ahead when he opened his mouth to argue with me. "At least at this point. Everything is so up in the air right now that it's impossible to make long-term plans." I could see he still wanted to interrupt, but was at least willing to let me have my say, and I was grateful for that. I steeled myself and kept going. "You have to know I would never stop you from seeing Hope. I would not do that, Joe—not to you and not to her. We can figure out the details later, assuming everything goes well." That was as close as I could come right then to admitting the bald, agonizing truth. The reality was that Hope might not survive more than a few moments or hours after birth, and the whole discussion of visitation and custody and relationships would be rendered moot.

Joe shook his head, clearly flustered. "I could not do that, Stephanie. I couldn't."

"You couldn't see her?" I was surprised. Joe had always been so wired into his own family, even talking about hypothetical children of his own someday that I hadn't even considered that he wouldn't want anything to do with Hope. My hands came down protectively over my abdomen, as if I could shield her from the words coming out of our mouths. I never, ever wanted my baby to feel anything but completely loved and wanted for who she was. She deserved that.

"No!" He practically shouted. "I can't imagine myself not raising my own child, Stephanie. That's what I meant." The air left my lungs with a whoosh. I hadn't even realized I'd been holding my breath. "She's my daughter," he explained carefully, "and you're her mother. You said you knew how important family was to me. That makes you and her my family, Stephanie."

Oh, God. Talk about a double edged sword. The first blade sliced through me when I realized that Joe would never abandon his own child, and the second hit when it was obvious Hope and I would never be anything but a burden to him. I couldn't do that to Joe, and I couldn't do it to myself or to Hope. All of us deserved better than that. I couldn't undo the past, but I could make the choice to stop causing Joe any more pain in the here and now. "No, Joe," I said quietly. "It makes us your obligation. Your burden, if you will. And I won't be part of that. I won't see you give up your own shot at happiness because you feel like you owe something to me or to Hope." He started to argue, but I pushed on. In the back of my mind was what he'd said when he first walked in the room. He's met a woman. A woman he cared about enough to bring her home to meet his mother. That wasn't something Joe Morelli took lightly. I didn't have the right to steal that chance at happiness away from him. I'd been enough of a destructive force in his life already. "It's okay, Joe. Really. I want you to be happy. I really, really do. Let me do this, please. It's the least I can do. I can let you go so you can be happy with somebody else."

He looked at me like I had sprouted horns.

Not exactly what I was expecting after offering the supreme sacrifice of giving him up. After all, I'd been through this before. I knew just how empty my life was going to be without him. Losing Joe Morelli once had just about destroyed me. I didn't know how I was going to keep on breathing through a second time, but I was determined for once in my infantile, over-indulged life to do the right thing. The least he could do was look appreciative instead of like I was nuts.

He shook his head slowly from side to size, clearly puzzled. "You really don't get it, do you?"

Suddenly, I was just so tired. Exhausted, even. I didn't know how much longer I could hold myself together through this confrontation. "Don't get what, Joe?" I asked listlessly. Please, God, let him say his peace and get out of here so I can have my mental breakdown without a witness.

"My father," he practically spit, as was usually the case on the rare occasions he mentioned his late, unlamented father. "My father was one of those men who saw his children, his wife, his family as a burden. Something that kept him from doing whatever it was he thought he wanted to do. Something that took up his time and resources." He studied his shoes for a moment, clearly trying to regain his composure. "I am not my father, Stephanie. I am nothing like him."

"I know that, Joe." I started to explain that I had never meant to compare him to his father, but he cut me off.

"Taking care of those you love is not a burden, Stephanie. It is an honor for a man to take care of his children and their mother. An honor. Never a burden."

I shook my head to clear it. "But what about the woman you brought home to meet your mother? Do you love her?" I wasn't sure I wanted to know the answer, but I also knew it would eat away at me like a cancer until I did know it.

Joe hesitated for a minute, obviously choosing his words carefully. "I thought I could grow to love her."

"I am so confused." Funny, I didn't even realize I'd said those words aloud.

"Then let's keep it simple," he said. "You and Hope—you're my family. Whether we get married or don't get married, live together or not, doesn't make any difference. You're my family now. Nothing will ever change that."

Taking care of those you love is not a burden. I mulled that around for a minute, then gave it a few more turns for good measure. "How can you still love me?" That wasn't what I meant to ask, but that was what came out.

Joe just shook his head. "I don't know how to stop, Cupcake."

I reached out, then, finally. My hand was shaking and a part of me was still afraid to touch him, afraid he would draw back. He caught my hand with his own then, and laced our fingers together, bringing my knuckles to his lips, feather light against my skin. Tentative. Joe and I had been many things over the years: combustible, scorchingly hot and fevered, frantic sometimes in our coupling, and other times slow and langorous. But we had never been tentative, afraid to touch each other, feeling and picking our way through a minefield. Relief and desire swelled together within me. It had been so long since I'd felt his touch. I pulled him to me by our joined hands, and he came willingly. I laid my other hand along the familiar sandpaper of his well-after-five-o'clock shadow, and pulled him down to my mouth.

Tentative, yes. And sweet. But I didn't want to be treated like I was fragile. I wouldn't break, and I could feel the unmistakable flame spark between us even through the gentleness. I slid my hand up through his hair, letting my fingers play over the spot just behind his right ear that had always been so sensitive. The tip of my tongue traced the bow of his upper lip, and I bit down gently on his fuller lower lip, pulling it into my mouth. He settled his mouth against mine with a groan, and I smiled against his lips. It was still there. The old magic, the overwhelming heat. I pulled him over on top of me, my willing captive.

"We can't—" he protested.

"I know, I know. I just need to feel you."

"The nurse will see."

"Then get under the blanket."

"We can't."

"We can. We'll be quick."

"No, we won't."

"Then we won't. The hell with the nurse, I need you."

"Oh, God."

"Down further. Yes, like that."

"You're so wet."

"I want you inside of me."

"Soon. Not tonight, but soon, I promise."

"Yes. Oh, God, yes. Please!"

"You like that?" Soft laughter against my neck.

His name broke from my lips like a prayer, and he caught the sound with his eager mouth, plundering and pummeling until I finally felt his own release. He rolled quickly to the side, and ran gentle fingers down the side of my face.

"Jesus, I haven't done that since I was a teenager." He sounded half-pleased, half embarrassed.

Stretching slow and catlike, I answered. "Sometimes you have to improvise."

"Is that what you call it? In junior high we called it—"

I laid my fingers atop his lips to stop the words. "I don't want to know." He chuckled against my hand. "And this wasn't junior high."

I felt his mouth move back into serious lines. "No, it wasn't."

"Stay with me tonight," the words cost me, and he knew it. I couldn't face one more morning after the night before alone. My emotions were just too raw. " I know you have things you have to do," I continued. "Your family is waiting for you, and I know you have explanations to make to…." I broke off. I didn't know the name of the woman Joe had been involved with. Wasn't sure I wanted to.

"Traci," he supplied.

"To Traci," I finished. "But I need you tonight. I need you here with me." Dammit, I hated sounding needy, but I just could not face seeing Joe's back walking away from me one more time. It might only be temporary, but on top of everything else tonight, it was just too much.

"Then here is where I'll be." He got up then, and went to the adjacent bathroom. When he came out, he brought a wet washcloth with him, and cleaned us both up. He didn't say a word as he slipped off his shoes, and dropped his belt, wallet and car keys into the nightstand drawer. He carefully threaded his way through the wires and tubing connecting me to all the monitors and finally stretched out behind me on the narrow hospital bed. I turned toward him, and sank gratefully into my accustomed spot, head resting on his bicep, forehead resting against his shoulder. He kissed the top of my head like he had hundreds of times before, and we settled our arms and legs in a tangle that was as familiar as time. My knee rode up high on the outside of his hip, the other caught between his thighs. One of my hands curled up against his T-shirt and I frowned. "The hell with it," he finally said, and tossed the t-shirt over my head to land with a soft thud in the chair. I smiled quietly and resettled myself, this time curling my fingers into his chest hair, my other arm snaking around his waist. His free hand came up to commandeer my breast like always, and I sighed happily against the warm strength of him. Nestled in Joe's arms, I felt my body relax completely for the first time in forever. I was home. Hope gave a final admonitory kick, and Joe gave a sleepy chuckle, his hand moving down briefly to trace the curve of his daughter before returning to its customary place. Sleep was beckoning, and I fluctuated between wanting to stay awake and savor the feel of sleeping in Joe's arms and throwing myself headlong into what I knew would be a sleep that was finally restful and complete. His lips whispered across my forehead again. "Sleep now," he rumbled, and my eyes closed.

The sun came slanting into the airshaft way too early the next morning. I could feel Joe's even breathing and the steady thrum of his heart under my ear. His arms still held me, but I knew the moment my eyes opened that he was far from relaxed. "Did you sleep at all?" I asked quietly.

"Some," he answered.

Bullshit. "Joe?"

"I dozed," he finally admitted.

I pulled away from him. "I shouldn't have asked you to stay."

His finger came up under my chin and raised my face to meet his gaze. "You needed me to stay, and I wanted to be here. Okay?"

I shook my head. "No, not okay. Talk to me Joe."

Something was eating at him, or several somethings. He shook his head as if to dismiss my concerns. "I just have a lot on my mind, that's all."

"About Traci?" I guessed. His hands had been playing idly through my hair, and they stilled abruptly.

He nodded slowly. "Among other things," he admitted. His face was drawn and pale in the morning light, the lines fanning out from the edges of his eyes more pronounced with deep smudges below, staining the soft hollow between eye and cheekbone.

I smoothed back the creases near his eyes, and he let me do it, but his face remained remote. The past twelve hours had really taken a lot out of him, and that could be laid squarely on my doorstep. "I'm sorry, Joe." He made a dismissive gesture, but I continued anyway. "No, I mean it. I know this was a lot to dump on you at once, and I wish I knew of an easier way to do it."

"There was no easy way, Steph. It just is. And now we have to deal with it."

Tears welled up in my eyes. "I'm just sorry I made it so complicated. I wish—"

"No," he stopped me. "Don't. It's a waste of breath, okay? We can't go back. I can't go back and change things I did, and you can't go back to change anything you did. We can only go forward from here." He thought for a minute, his face very serious. "I don't want to start the rest of our lives together—Hope's life, with regrets. It may take some time to come to terms with everything, for both of us. But sitting here now and second guessing what either one of us should have done differently won't help our daughter. She's the priority, right?"

"Okay," I agreed. "The only thing is, Joe, I don't want us to shut each other out. I don't want you pretending everything is okay when there are obviously things bothering you. Talk to me. Please."

He shrugged and blew out a long sigh. "I need to go and talk to Traci at her hotel this morning. And I need you not to freak out about it."

Well, I'd asked for it. I tried to keep my breathing calm, I really did. It was a reasonable thing. The only trouble is, I didn't feel reasonable about it. "Are you going to sleep with her?"

He looked like I'd sucker punched him. "How can you ask me that?"

Suddenly, it all came boiling out. All my insecurities, all my vanity, everything. "Because she's prettier than me, I know it! She's probably younger, too and she's got big perky tits. She's probably got some fancy schmantzy job and has a really classy apartment. She's probably smart and funny and—" Joe cut me off the only way he could, with his mouth. It was just a light kiss, but it effectively shut me up.

"It's not a competition, Stephanie, and I'm not looking to trade up." His looked deep into my eyes, and I felt the coil of jealousy start to unwind, just a little bit. "I choose you, okay? And whether or not she's pretty, or how perky her tits are, or what kind of job she has doesn't matter."

I sniffed, slightly mollified, but still eaten alive with jealousy. "But she's pretty, isn't she?"

"Yeah, she's pretty."

"Is she younger than me?"

"She's twenty-eight." Bitch.

"And she's got big tits, right?"

Joe lowered his head, and started to chuckle.

"I knew it!" I threw my pillow over my face and I howled.

Joe picked up the corner of the pillow and peeked in at me. "Steph?"

I swallowed my sobs and looked at him with blotchy eyes. "I'm so sorry Joe," I sobbed. He looked puzzled. "I must have made you feel like this, and I'm so sorry! I wish I could take it back."

"Let's just give it some time, Cupcake. It'll be okay."

I nodded, and sniffled my way back to some semblance of dignity. "I know you have to go. I'll be all right." He looked at my splotchy face and tear-stained eyes and looked uncertain. "I will be, Joe. You go do what you have to do. And I'll be here. Waiting." I tried for a smile, but it was pretty watery.

"I'll be back in a couple of hours. I've got some things to take care of, but then I'm coming right back. Okay?"

"Okay." It wasn't okay, of course, but he'd been so damned reasonable about everything. I narrowed my eyes at his retreating back. I knew the kind of women who chased after Joe Morelli. I'd spent years watching them hone their skills. Joe, for all his experience with women, was really far too trusting. He saw the pretty face and the perky tits, but I saw the devious conniving that went on below the surface.

Still. He had said he wanted me, big tits notwithstanding. Okay, then. I could be mature about this. I might even be able to manage magnanimous. I'd always wanted to be called magnanimous, and looking at things realistically, this might be my one shot. I didn't really have a prayer of ever being accused of being a good loser, not after my Exorcist head-spinning routine during my divorce from Dickie. I just wasn't wired that way. But being a gracious winner, well, now. There was something I might actually manage. I pictured myself looking all sympathetic and kindly toward Joe's soon to be ex-girlfriend. I would smile beatifically and there would even be a shimmer of sunlight all around me. Almost like a halo. Of course, in my mind, my hair wasn't sticking out sixteen different directions, and I was wearing something a lot closer to a bridal negligee, with acres of flowing chiffon to subtly enhance my barely burgeoning belly instead of the stupid cotton tent that must have been purchased from Ugly R Us. And I had on makeup. With no blotchy spots or baggy undereye circles.

The Nearly-Dearly-Departed, of course, would be tear-stained and angst ravaged. After all, I'd spent the night cradled in Joe's arms, and she'd spent the long night alone in a strange place. Probably her boobs were starting to sag, too. I could hope anyway. And she'd storm in screaming and raising hell, and through it all, I would be understanding and serene. I would empathize with her plight. After all, losing Joe was a tremendous blow, and any woman would be heartbroken. I would be mature. I would be calm. I would be wise. I smiled complacently to myself.

Piece of cake.

Like a lot of my really good ideas, this one worked out better in my head than it did in real life. And part of it worked out the way I planned—the part where she came in screaming and stomping, well, she did that right on cue about an hour after Joe left. I was actually pretty impressed with the extent of her vocabulary, and believe me, in Jersey it takes a lot to impress. And she was inventive, I'll give her that. The rest though, wasn't quite so good. Her boobs had definitely not started to sag, though I privately thought that was due more to silicone than good genes. Probably those boobs would withstand a direct hit thermonuclear blast without moving. But her face didn't blotch even a little bit, and she had acres of long blonde hair that was only artfully mussed. If this was how she looked after a long agonizing night, she really deserved killing. Justifiable homicide or something like that. Probably I shouldn't ask Joe about the particulars on that one, but there you go.

"I understand you're upset, Traci," that was me, Lady Bountiful. I'd seen her eyes narrow when I'd called her by name. Score one for me, and I hadn't had to get nasty to do it. This was going to work out okay after all. "Joe and I never meant for anyone else to get hurt." Eyes narrowed a little more. She didn't like the implication that Joe and I were the established couple, and that we'd maybe been talking about her, maybe even pitying her.

"He's only marrying you out of obligation!" she spat. He was marrying me? Well now, that's more like it. I felt a radiant smile creep up my face despite my intention to play nice, and I absently ran a comforting hand over Hope's morning acrobatics.

"If you say so." I thought I was remarkably neutral. I kept picturing some of the stained glass windows at St. Anselm's, with their serene angels who seemed to never get ruffled about anything. I was focused.

"And it doesn't bother you? The idea that Joe is only with you because you trapped him?"

Okay. That was far enough. I still didn't lose my temper. "If you really think that, you don't know Joe at all," I responded evenly, holding onto Joe's calming words from the night before like a talisman. I wasn't an obligation to him, no matter what this woman thought. Joe loved me, and he loved Hope. We weren't a burden, he'd called taking care of us an honor. My breathing was starting to quicken, and I could literally feel my blood pressure rising, but I made sure none of it showed on my face.

"Don't I?" she sneered. I looked over at her and examined her face carefully. Way too much bravado, and not nearly enough knowing. In that moment, I knew with absolute certainty that while this woman may have come to Trenton with Joe to meet his mother, she had never been in his bed.

"No," I said flatly. "You don't." She started to protest, and I held up my hand in the universal symbol for shut-the-hell-up. "You need to leave, Traci. Now. Before you embarrass yourself any more. Joe's a wonderful man, and I know you must be hurting that he's not going to be in your life any more. And I understand that. But I'm not going to sit her and discuss my relationship with Joe with you, or yours with him."

If looks could kill, I would have been six feet under, but she contented herself with nasty looks and made a big production of gathering her purse and fluffing her hair. I saw her inhale to excoriate me some more on her way out the door, but cut her off. "And Traci? One more thing."

She arched one eyebrow at me, and tried to look intimidating. Poor thing. I'd had lots more practice.

"If you ever come within ten feet of Joe again, I'll scratch your eyeballs out and hang them in your shirt pocket." I said amiably. I heard a hastily stifled cough that might have been a bark of laughter. I smiled like butter wouldn't melt in my mouth and gave her my patented little finger wave. I'd considered just the finger, but I didn't want Hope picking up any bad habits. I took a deep cleansing breath and stretched my arms above my head.

"So how much did you overhear?" I asked when the blonde waves finally huffed back down the hallway without another word.

"Enough," he answered, but there was a dimple playing around the corner of his mouth.

"And you didn't rescue me?" I demanded, half in jest.

He looked me square in the eye. "Seemed like you had a plan, and didn't need rescuing, Cupcake."

Well, yeah. I sniffed. But still.

"Besides," he admitted sheepishly. "I didn't want to make things any worse."

"Things didn't go well at the hotel?" I asked, at least slightly mollified.

"No," he shook his head regretfully, but the smile was hovering again.

"So what happened?" I couldn't help myself. I've always been inveterately nosy. This was not news to Joe.

"She was upset." No shit.

I just stared at him.

"And I think she's going to have a really hefty hotel bill when she gets home," he added. I still just gave him the stare. "I don't know what she threw at the door, but whatever it was that shattered sounded expensive," he explained sheepishly.

I just shook my head. "Where did you meet this woman?" And why had he ever thought she was someone he should bring home to meet his mother?

Now he really looked sheepish. "Terry introduced us," he admitted.

"Terry." I repeated. "As in Gilman." He just nodded.

"You are a complete idiot," I said without preamble.

He opened his mouth to argue, but thought better of it. I could see the thoughts chasing themselves around in his head. "Yeah," he finally admitted.

"Terry Gilman?" I was still in shock. "You're lucky she wasn't venomous!" He chuckled at that, and I thought once again that he was lucky he had me to look out for him from here on out. Imagine trusting Terry Gilman to fix him up with a new girlfriend. Only a man would have been that clueless.

"So what else did you do?" He looked at me with surprise. "Well, she got here before you did, and I assume that was after her tantrum at the hotel was over, so where else did you go? It hardly takes a detective to figure out you made some other stops, Joe." He laughed at me then, and things eased between us.

"I dropped of my house keys at my mother's, and had a few words with her." I must have looked alarmed because he leaned down and gave me a reassuring kiss on the forehead. "Don't worry. Not those kinds of words."

I frowned. "What kind of words then?" Sure, I didn't want Joe on the outs with his mother because she'd kept quiet about my hospitalization and pregnancy at my behest, but above all I was curious.

"The good kind," he said, noncommittally, and I smacked him on the arm. Hard. He laughed at me, and I started to think I was going to have to get my feet involved, but instead he laced his fingers through mine and began telling me about his morning. He'd gone to his mother's to make some phone calls. Tony and Mooch were going to open up the house. Cathy was going to load up on some groceries, and she and Mary would dust everything out since the house had been sitting empty for so long. Then he hit me with the kicker. "Then the guys are going to hit the hardware store and get some paint for the office. I figured pink to start with, but if you want something else we can repaint it later."

"Joe, I'm not sure that's such a good idea," I said shakily.

His jaw hardened. "Then you probably don't want to hear that I went out and bought a crib, too, but I did."

My face fell. "Oh, Joe. What if—"

"I'm fucking sick of what ifs, Stephanie!" he exploded. "What if she dies? Is that what you were going to say?" Numbly I nodded, unable to force any words through the constriction in my throat. Suddenly he deflated, collapsed in the chair, and cradled my hand in both of his. "Then we're going to be heartbroken. And nothing is going to make that any easier. But nothing will make it any harder, either. If we don't paint a nursery, if we don't put up a crib, and she dies, then it's like she never lived. And I can't live with that. And if she dies, and we never see her in that crib or in that room, will it make it hurt any more? Is it possible that anything could hurt more than that?"

I stopped and thought about that for a minute. I'd had both so much and so little time to think over the past weeks that I'd accepted the conventional wisdom from the experts at the hospital. They had said it would be easier if there were no empty nursery. They had said it would be too painful to prepare for a baby that might not survive to come home from the hospital. They had said. And I'd bought it. But Joe was right. They didn't have to live through it. They didn't have to face burying their child. They weren't us. "You're right," I admitted. "If she doesn't make it, nothing we do or don't do will make any difference in how much we will grieve for her. You want to make a nursery, Joe? Do it. Make it beautiful for our girl." I smiled at him then, still a little watery, but whether or not Hope survived didn't change our status as parents. We were her parents, whether she lived or died.

"And I called Newark PD," he said after a few minutes. "Took a leave of absence and started the paperwork to return to Trenton."

"Is that what you want?" I asked, still uncertain, and I started to shake.

"Our lives are here," he said simply.

I tried to nod, but my teeth began to chatter, and the shaking got worse. "Steph, you okay?" I tried nodding again, but my head began to spin and I was unbelievably cold. "Steph?" His voice sounded like it was coming from a long way off.
"Oh, God," I head him say. "You're bleeding."

I focused on his face, and realized that things weren't right. He was scrambling for the nurse's call button, and everything was moving so fast. I wanted to slow it down just for a minute. There were so many things I hadn't said yet. So many things I wanted to tell Joe. My hopes, my dreams, how much having his baby had meant to me, how precious she was, how much I loved him. But none of it would come out. Helplessly, I just looked at Joe as the world started darkening around him. Dimly, I thought that if his face were the last thing I saw, I would die happy.