The sun hadn't risen yet. James Sinclair loved the quiet before patients showed up; he always had. He would often come in long before his staff, just to relish the solitude.

James Sinclair sat in the heavy leather chair behind his desk—it had been a gift from Sarah years ago—when his primary care practice first opened. Hannah had been a toddler when he first began accepting patients. He couldn't believe that twenty years had passed since then. His eyes rested on an old, faded picture of his family. Carefully, he grasped the silver framed photograph. Hannah sat on his lap, smiling brightly. Sarah sat to his left, also smiling, but it just wasn't the same. Hannah's smile illuminated her entire face; her eyes lit with laughter and contentment. Sarah just didn't have the same light.

That faded long ago, Dr. Sinclair thought sadly. And it's all my fault. His eyes couldn't help but drift to Victor. The little boy sat at Sarah's side. His dark eyes were identical to his mother's: dark, searching, and sad. Unlike his mother, the boy didn't even try to force a smile. James traced the lines of his son's face as regret filled him. I had to make you this way, son. His own dark eyes filled with tears. It was never my intention. I made you into a soldier. The tears began to fall down his cheeks. Just not into the soldier you were intended to be.

Carefully, he pushed the reminder away and buried his face in his hands. Victor would be released from the hospital today. His heart both swelled and broke as he thought of his only son. What I wouldn't give for you to know the truth, he thought. What I wouldn't give for you to understand. He dropped his hands. One laid flat on the desk, and the other reached for his desk drawer. Slowly, he opened it. His fingers reached blindly within. Gliding across the weathered, smooth wood, he found the cut out, and carefully, he pulled the wood away. He sighed as he found what he sought.

Ah, there you are. He smiled as he pulled the creamy, well-read pages from the secret compartment. The script that jumped out at him was comforting and beautiful. The well-rounded, almost perfect cursive had faded over the years, but he marveled at how well they had held up. There had been many times over the years that he turned to her words—he needed her that first night back home, just after Hannah's first steps. He needed her when he fought with Sarah, and those fights were fast, furious, and earth-shattering in the beginning. He needed them when he had to be the man he never wanted to be—and he certainly needed her when he turned into the monster Victor had nightmares about.

My beloved James,

I hope this letter finds you. I don't know if it will, because I know how your wife's family works. Unfortunately, I know it all too well. I have known them my entire life, even though I've only hated them for half of it. They are a brutal disaster of a family, and I wish that you'd never walked into their orbit—but if it hadn't been for that, you wouldn't have walked into mine.

James' eyes overflowed again. His fingers shook as he grabbed a tissue from the silver plated box on his desk. He was careful to wipe his fingers dry as he brought them back to the paper. He didn't want to taint the magic of her final letter to him. There had been precious few he'd managed to save, but he'd hidden them around the house and here, at his office, even in his car. It was like he was betraying Sarah all over again, but as of late, that didn't bother him. The hatred he'd pushed down over the last two decades had reared its ugly head over and over again. That's what led him here—alone, before the patients came and asked about his missing daughter, before the nurses whispered about him not visiting Victor. He turned to her words. They just made sense.

I know what's happening. I know that I'm working on borrowed time. These four walls are closing in on me, and I know that, once my purpose is served, I'll be dead. I know that you think they will have mercy on me, on us, and I will be free, but if you listen to your logic, you will know that isn't possible. If I am free, I will find you. I wouldn't be able to help myself. I love you more now than I did before, James, if that is possible. I know that truth.

I know it as I know our child's name. She is a girl, you know. You can't tell me any different. She moves within me, and I rejoice in it. She brings me happiness in the depths of all the fear and the sorrow. I worry about her, just as I worry about the child that resides outside these four walls. She is my only regret.

James sucked his breath in. Those words always ached within his chest. Guilt had been a hellish foe over the years, in many ways, but he had to remember that the love of his life had a life before him. He closed his eyes. God, Hannah looks like her. His mind drifted to his daughter's dark, voluminous curls, her beautiful gray eyes, and his heart all but stopped. Hannah is her fucking twin.

Don't misunderstand me, James. I will never regret my firstborn baby girl, but I do regret leaving her basically orphaned. Yes, I know her father lives on, but he isn't here. He never really has been. When I am gone, I will rely on him to find her a home, but I know that will never be with him. I know I could have done better for her, but I stupidly thought that our love could conquer anything—even the Irish Kings. I should have known better.

He placed the letter on the mahogany desk and flipped the page. His tears had dried, but his heart, once more, felt like it would shatter in two.

I should have known that this love, no matter how strong it is, cannot conquer this kind of evil—at least, not now. It needs someone stronger, someone with less to lose. You have Victor. I have my little girl, and our daughter. No matter how much I love you, and no matter how much you love me, we love them more.

James always fought the urge to crumple the beautiful, old stationary. He hated those words more than anything. Yes, he loved his children, but he loved her just as much. Still, he knew the hell that awaited had he not complied. He clenched an angry fist, but he continued, nodding his head as he read.

Our daughter is jumping in my belly as I write this. Tonight, I will focus on her. I will rub this massive stomach of mine, and I will dream that it is your hand touching me. I will focus on the life we could have given her, had we been able to escape this insanity. I will dream of her and Victor growing up together, and I will dream of my sweet girls meeting one another. I will hope and pray for a miracle, but I will do everything I can to stay calm. For her, for me, for you, for the kids.

I thought I'd known love before, but I realize that I hadn't. Those past loves were merely practice for you. I don't regret falling. I don't regret holding on to everything we could possibly have together. I don't regret holding on to hope. In this last month before our baby is born, and my life is gone, I will take comfort in the fact that I've not just been loved—I've been adored and praised. I've been worshipped.

James swallowed hard and fought any additional tears that fell from his eyes. He didn't know exactly how he'd survived her loss. He couldn't remember that far back, and even if he could, that time was such a blur that details were sketchy at times, at best. All he could remember was the heavy, palpable agony of her loss. Even as the years had passed them by, and he forced Victor away, he still took comfort in knowing Hannah was safe. As long as she was okay, he knew that the last twenty years hadn't been a waste. The Irish Kings had kept their promise, a promise made the minute Hannah took her first breath, and her mother took her last. Until now.

Now, she had all but vanished, and he knew the Kings were the reason. But why? His brain screamed. I've complied with every fucking instruction. I've done everything they asked. He sighed. Even going after Victor didn't make sense. He had no part of his; hell, he's in direct lineage to the fucking Irish bastards. As the sun began to rise, he cursed himself for allowing those bastards control of his life. His eyes drifted back to the pretty script.

Please know I love you, and I do not blame you for anything. Neither one of us could help falling in love. The fault isn't in you and me; it's in them. Just try to take care of our daughter. Keep an eye out for my Kerrianne. Just make sure she's safe too.

I know you'll do the right thing, James. Just know that the moments we shared we have shared have been the best of my life. They bring me comfort now, as I wait for the end.

James inhaled deeply. His eyes left those swirly, beautifully written words and stared out at the Appalachian skyline. He folded his hands and placed his chin on his fingertips. He was lost. Completely lost. He knew he had to find his daughter. The words found him again.

Take care of our little girl, James. Make sure she never knows the life her mother led. Keep her safe. Promise me. I love you. I love you so very, very much. Always.

The sun illuminated the room now; any minute the staff would be walking in, starting their mundane days, never knowing that their boss lived a life of Irish warfare, a mistress, and a secret baby. He smiled ruefully. If only they knew.

Carefully, James folded the paper in half and placed it back in its hiding place. He stood as he closed the drawer. Without hesitation, he grabbed his lab coat and slid it on. I promised to keep them safe, he thought. Catching his gaze in a small wall mirror, he hated the man that stood there. I never wanted to be this. All I wanted was her.

He straightened his coat. For now, he'd be professional and try to forget her, but when he closed his eyes, all he saw was her high cheekbones and smooth skin. He saw her curls, so like Kerrianne's, so like Hannah's. Just as he had twenty years ago, James saw forever in her. As he pulled the door open, only one thought raced through his mind.

I love you too, Fiona. Always.

.