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Silence was her only answer. Mike always kept his feelings to himself—those few he would allow himself. He was mad at her. She had said too much.

No, she realized. She had hit on exactly what he had come to do. “You’re going to stop seeing him?”

“What choice do I have?” His tone was even and steady. “I had it all planned out. First thing I did when I set foot on U.S. soil was to fill out adoption papers.”

“Adoption papers?” She halted. Had she heard him right?

“I decided to adopt Ali, but you beat me to it.”

Adopt Ali? Those two words collided in her brain, and she couldn’t think past them. “What? Oh, Mike, I didn’t know.”

“I know.” His answer was curt but not harsh. He cleared his throat sounding indifferent, but she knew he wasn’t. “Ali’s better off with you, Sarah. You have more to give him than I ever could.”

“I don’t know about that. Now that I’ve seen you with him, I—” Her throat closed and she took off toward the window, staring at the blur of the monkey bars through the rain-smeared glass. “I love him. I’ve been afraid something like this would come along and I’d have to g-give him up. That’s what happened to the first child I fostered. I wanted to adopt little Carlos, but he went back to his family. It tore me apart.”

“Sarah, I don’t want that for you or Ali.” His voice dipped tenderly. His strong, healing hands curved over her shoulders, comforting her just like he used to do. Just for a moment, before he stepped back and away from her. “I can’t think of a better parent for him.”

“But if you wanted him?”

“You were here, Sarah. You were here with him. You saw him through his surgery. You made a home for him. Because of you, he has a safe, happy environment in which to recover and grow.” Tenderness warmed his hazel eyes. “You’re what he needs, Sarah. I’m not. I can see that now. I have the army.”

And there it was, the conflict that had driven them apart. The army came first and foremost to Mike and she believed it always would. Although now she had come to understand something new. “Your commitment to the military is not a bad thing, Mike. It’s a very, very good one.”

“
What?
I can’t believe my ears. This, coming from you?” One eyebrow quirked up over pain-shot eyes. “You make it sound like a compliment.”

“I know, that’s a change for me.”

“I’ll say.”

She needed a few feet of distance to find the right words. She had so much to say. The last year had changed her in countless ways. “I’ve had a chance to see the results of the work you do firsthand.”

“Ali?”

“Yes, and Whitney Harpswell. She’s back home in part because of you.” Could he see how much she admired him? Was too much showing on her face? “It’s important work, Mike. No one is more committed than you, and I see now why. You save lives. You save other people’s loved ones. I have a foster son because of your dedication.”

“It’s not what you think.” He looked in anguish.

Poor Mike. How many men and women were alive because of him? “You should see Ali as much as you like. He needs you, too.”

For one brief moment, his gaze met hers. It was as if he could see into her thoughts, as impossible as that was. For one brief moment, tenderness filled his eyes. Hope lurched within her before he tore away.

“That’s just the thing.” Mike seemed distant again. “I need your help to ease out of his life. He’s more dependent than I thought.”

Oh.
If she hadn’t known him, then she would have missed the grief hugging the deeper tones of his words. “I thought you loved him.”

“I do.” He didn’t show an ounce of emotion; he didn’t even blink. This was the Mike she knew, stoic, steely and able to keep his distance. He cleared his throat. “I don’t want to hurt the little guy. Will you help me?”

“How can I? You want to cut him out of your life?” She thought of the man and boy in her backyard kicking the soccer ball around, their laughter punctuating the crisp, wintry air. She thought of how his eyes had darkened when he confessed he had wanted to adopt Ali. “I don’t think it is right for either one of you.”

“Then do you have a better solution?”

“Yes.” The answer came to her quietly, like a gentle loving whisper. She searched his face. The squint of tension around his eyes, the tendons tight in his neck made her think there was a deeper reason why this was hard for him.

Fear quaked through her. She reached out for him and laid her hand flat on his chest. The thump of his heart vibrated against her palm. Like lightning cracking from the sky to the earth, so did the connection from her heart to his. She could feel his anguish. He was hurting, too.

There was a way for them both to stop hurting, a way for this heartache to end.

“M-Mike?” His name trembled on her lips and echoed in the chambers of her soul. “I have so very many regrets. I wish I could go back and change what I said to you and how I said it.”

A muscle twitched in his tight jaw, the only hint that he was feeling something uncontrollable. The corners of his mouth softened, and this was also the Mike she knew, compassionate and tender.

“I still love you.” She was no longer trembling, for she was speaking the truth. Standing out on a limb, fearing she might fall and praying Mike would catch her. “Say you still love me, too. Please, can you forgive me?”

“F
orgive you?” Mike couldn’t believe what his ears were telling him. His heart hardened. He plainly heard the emotion, thin and tremulous in her voice. Her regrets and apologies were echoed on her face. The pain he saw there could bring him to his knees.

He couldn’t let it. He couldn’t forget what she had done to him. Maybe he didn’t want to. He closed his eyes, hoping she would not see the truth, hoping that she would never know how much she had hurt him. It would make him too vulnerable. Already her hand on his chest was drawing up tender feelings.

He dug deep for all the anguish he’d been through, all the sleepless nights, all the running from the pain and the agony when he couldn’t run anymore. She thought her fair-weather level of love was all right now? That he could forgive the fourteen years she had been the love of his life?

He took a deep breath and stepped away from her touch. She hadn’t loved him enough, and he was only doing the right thing in walking away. In letting her know exactly what she had done to him. He sharpened his words, gathered up his verbal weapons and opened his mouth only to find there were none. He couldn’t do it. As bitter as he was, he couldn’t say a single word to hurt her.

By the looks of things, she was hurting enough. Tears stood pooled in her eyes, vibrant and full of sorrow. She appeared so unhappy, that tore his heart out, too.

“I’m sorry.” The words came out gently, with the love he used to feel for her. With the tenderness she had once rejected. “You were the one who didn’t want me, remember?”

“That’s not what I meant, Mike. I’ve always wanted you. I’ve always loved you.” Those tears trembled, ready to fall. She fought them back. “Can’t you see that I was afraid to lose you?”

“No. You
did
lose me.”

“I wanted you to commit to me, Mike, that’s all—”

“I can’t do this.” Her pain was everywhere, on her face, in his soul and in the very air between them. “It’s over, Sarah. It was over when I learned the truth about you. I never should have trusted you.”

“Truth? What truth?” She stared up at him wide-eyed, full of confusion and even as the first tear fell, it was her sweetness he saw. She had never meant to hurt him.

Just as he never meant to hurt her. He grimaced, wishing he knew how to say the right thing, but there was nothing to fix this and even less to heal it. This is what love came to in the end—nothing but pain.

“Come here, Sarah.”

She had turned away, trying to hide her heartbreak, bucking up her chin the way she always did, blinking hard, gasping for air trying to stall the oncoming sobs. That broke him, too.

He couldn’t feel the hurt or the tenderness as he caught her by the curve of her shoulder to turn her toward him. He’d been right. One lone tear tracked down her porcelain cheek. He rubbed it away with the pad of his thumb, refusing to feel the warm silk of her skin and the tearing of his soul.

“We can’t go back.” He hated it. “Maybe you and I were never meant to be. Could be that’s why it never worked out between us.”

“You can’t believe that.”

He could see that she didn’t. He sure hoped the defenses would hold, because he hated seeing her like this, hurting, when there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. “All we can do is go forward. You and I have to do what’s right for that little boy in your care.”

“That’s what I’m doing.”

“I know.” He could see she was becoming defensive. Of course he could see that. “No one could be better for Ali than you.”

“I don’t know about that. What about you?”

“No, not me.” He’d wanted the job of raising the kid, but he’d lost out on that. “I want Ali to have the best, and that’s you.”

“If that’s what you think, then why can’t we—”

“No. We can’t. Don’t go there, Sarah.” He didn’t know what she had been about to say, but he didn’t like the “we” part. Wherever it had been going, it would only bring more agony to both of them. He took a step away, putting distance between them, drawing back his caring and shoring up his defenses. It wasn’t easy to walk away from a dream, because that’s what Sarah was to him. Always had been, would always be.

“All right.” She turned away from him to stare back out the window. The first round of lunch must be over, because there were little kids outside running around squealing and climbing on the bars. Her shoulders were set straight and strong, but vulnerability clung to her.

Maybe it was just his wishful thinking. Maybe it was the tear still damp on his thumb. Either way, Mike couldn’t let himself think of her crying after he stepped foot out the door. He had to be cool and rational and do the best thing for the boy and for Sarah, too.

“I’ll do as you ask.” Her words sounded hollow, as if she were putting up her defenses, too. “You’re right. We have to make this adjustment as easy as we can for Ali.”

“Thanks, Sarah. That’s a big relief. I don’t want to hurt him.”

“I know.” She swallowed hard and crossed her arms around her middle. “This is going to be hard for him. He’s lost everyone else.”

“I know, but he has you.” He made it sound like a compliment.

She wasn’t fooled. Mike had never felt that way about her, not truly. Or at least it was easier to believe he hadn’t. Otherwise how could she hold herself together as she listened to the strike of his boots on the tile floor? How could she keep the tears at bay as he paused near the doorway? She could picture him, turning toward her one last time, the apology on his handsome face and the shadows in his eyes.

She would never know what happened to him over there. She would never know a lot of things, and she hated that she still loved him as he broke the silence between them.

“Goodbye, Sarah. Take care of yourself.”

“You, too, Mike.” The words came out rough, and she wished she was strong enough to keep the tears out of her voice. She wasn’t.

She listened to the knell of his gait heading down the hall, growing distant until she could no longer hear him. Goodbye hovered on her lips, unspoken. She could not say the word. It made it easier to set her chin, gather her dignity and head back to her desk, even as her vision blurred.

“Sarah, are you all right?”

She looked up, realizing she was walking out of the school building on autopilot, and walking by one of her best friends. Sally Winthrop, first-grade teacher and fellow church member, looked concerned as she stood holding the door open to the crisp, breezy outdoors.

“I’ll be all right.” That was the truth. And as long as she didn’t think about Mike or say his name, she could stay numb enough to hold it together. Why had she thought that he would love her enough now? He loved the army. While she no longer blamed him for it, it still hurt. Badly.

“Did I see Mike walking down the hall during lunch?”

Sarah did her best not to wince at the sound of Mike’s name. She could handle this. She could. “Y-yes. He dropped by to talk about Ali.”

“That has to be a sticky situation, with the two of them being close.” All kind sympathy, that was Sally. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m holding.” That was the truth, too. She had to handle this. She couldn’t fall apart. Ali needed her to handle this the right way. So did Mike. She had seen the anguish on his face when she had told him she still loved him. Anguish, when she had suspected he might still love her, too. How could she have been so wrong? “It’s tough seeing Mike again, but Ali is worth it.”

“Have you heard anything more about your adoption petition?”

“No, but at this stage no news is good news, or so I’m told.” Sarah breezed outside and into the cold, struggling to put a smile on her face. There was no need to worry Sally. “How did things with your problem child turn out?”

“He was a perfect angel today.” Sally shook her head, scattering her tidy blond curls, as she fell in beside Sarah on the sidewalk. A serious wind battered the bare branches overhead. “Kids. You’ve got to love ’em. They sure keep us on our toes.”

“They do.” She pulled her keys from her pocket, wistfully admiring the life her friend had. Sally had three kids—two girls and a boy—and an adoring, devoted husband. Sarah and Sally were the same age. Sarah knew it was wrong to compare herself with her friend, God had a different plan in mind for everyone. She simply wanted a family life so badly, one full of love and laughter and happiness.

“I would love to chat with you, but I’ve got my kids waiting for me to pick them up.”

“I have Ali waiting at the church day care, too.” Since he wasn’t in her afternoon session.

“I’ll see you bright and early.” Sally smiled as she stopped next to her minivan. “Good luck with the Mike situation.”

“I need it. Thanks.” More than Sally knew. Sarah gave her remote a push. Her locks popped and she pulled open her door. She had a dozen things needing her attention—the press announcements to drop by the newspaper office for the Children of the Day fund-raiser, a quick stop to pick up a few of Ali’s Christmas gifts that had come in on order and a vase of flowers to take to Whitney Harpswell’s hospital room. But where did her mind go? To Mike, always to Mike.

She could feel his hands on her shoulders, comforting her. She could still hear the kind timbre of his voice.
Maybe you and I were never meant to be. Could be that’s why it never worked out between us.

Rationally, she knew maybe he was right. As hard as it was to admit. But as she dropped behind the wheel and settled her bags on the passenger seat, all the love in her heart cried out, no. No, it couldn’t be. Fourteen years of one’s life should not be a waste.

She had spent precious years of her life with him, all of her twenties and part of her thirties. Looking forward to her phone ringing and the delight of hearing his voice. Of not being able to wait for the day to end so they could be together over dinner, either at his place or hers, making a meal together and then talking over their day.

She missed being able to turn to him when she needed comfort and caring. She missed being able to tell him everything and having him do the same. She missed the way he would tell a story out of the most ordinary circumstances, but in a way sure to make her laugh. All the time she had spent terrified for him when he was deployed. All the time her soul felt brighter knowing that he loved her.

All of that was gone. Forever gone. Mike had said it best:
All we can do is go forward.

She would go her way. He would go his. He would find someone else to date and love and marry. Some other lucky woman to cook with and laugh with and raise kids with. He would be happy—because she would pray that he was so every day of her life to come.

But how could she be? Without him, without Mike, her future was bleak. Her heart could not imagine loving any other man. Not one.

She might not be the love of Mike’s life, but he was the love of hers.

She sorted through her keys, fighting tears, fighting to keep hold of the numbness. She thought of Ali. He had an appointment late this afternoon at the church’s grief center. The last thing she wanted was for him to be late to that.

She started the engine and blinked until the world came back into focus. She put the vehicle in gear and drove off, as if today was like any other day.

The tears in Sarah’s eyes haunted Mike. Through the afternoon, he fought to stay distant. He fought to stay unaffected. Not even his defenses could handle the strain.
I still love you. Say you still love me, too. Please, can you forgive me?
Her vulnerable, heartfelt declaration had hit him like a cluster bomb, fragmenting the cool control he prided himself on.

Don’t think about Sarah.
He pulled into his driveway and into the garage. He wished he could shut off his thoughts as easily as the truck’s engine. He pocketed his keys, grabbed his gym bag and the two plastic grocery sacks from the back and hiked into the house.

Empty. His steps, his movements and the rustle of the bags settling on the countertop echoed in the empty rooms. He pulled out the plastic containers of potato salad and rotisserie chicken. After washing his hands, he pulled a knife from the drawer and got right to work slicing vegetables and bread and chicken. The lonesomeness pressed on him like the ocean on a submarine.

I’ve always loved you. Can’t you see that I was afraid to lose you?
Sarah’s voice resounded in his head. He forced it to silence right along with the ache echoing within him. She hadn’t loved him enough then; she certainly didn’t love him enough now. She was lonely; that was all. And so was he.

Within minutes he had a salad bowl filled and a dinner plate reheating in the microwave. He poured a glassful of juice and carried everything past the table into the living room. He had a TV tray set up in front of the television. With a click of the remote the screen blazed to life, chasing away the silence.

He stabbed into his salad, spearing a cucumber and lettuce. Why couldn’t he get rid of the emotion sitting behind his sternum? Best not to think about why. It probably had something to do with the woman he refused to think about. He was over her. He was not in love with her. So what could it be?

Scar tissue, that’s what. Some wounds never healed right. Some wounds, no matter how skilled the surgeon or how well mended, hurt now and then. He figured seeing Sarah again was going to hurt. He knew now he’d been right—and the only solution was the right one. He didn’t plan on seeing her again.

His cell chirped, not his pager. Since he was on call tonight, he gave a sigh of relief before he tugged his phone out of his back pocket. Fellow surgeon Tom Beck’s name was on the call screen. Mike had nothing but respect for his friend and colleague. They had served together overseas. Tom might be young, but he had a steady hand and a calm manner even when bullets were zipping through the O.R. He answered. “What’s up, Tom?”

“Hey, Major. Some of the guys are on for a basketball game down at the gym. Old-timers versus residents.”

“Old-timers?” The last time he had looked, thirty-six wasn’t close to old. “I’m offended, Tom.”