That was a spin he’d never considered.

But it was true.

And while it didn’t excuse what he’d done, it did help explain why his life had spiraled out of control after her bleak prognosis.

The question was, what did Kimberly’s take on all this mean going forward?

“Are you saying you can forgive me?” Even as he broached the question, it seemed too much to hope for.

“I’m working on it. My mind has accepted everything I’ve told you . . . but my heart isn’t quite there yet. I need time to absorb and adjust and . . . come to terms with the situation. I do know I’m not ready to walk away from everything we’ve had, or throw away the future we may still have. I love you too much.” She pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at a tear that rolled down her cheek.

He rose, circled the coffee table, and sat on the settee beside her—close but not touching, his own throat so tight he could hardly speak. “I love you too, Kimberly. I always have and always will. With all my heart. I’ll do whatever I have to do to rebuild what we had. You set the ground rules, and I’ll follow them.”

“Are you willing to stay in the guest room for now?”

“For as long as it takes.” He swallowed. “For as long as I’m here.”

She scrutinized him. “You’re thinking you’ll end up in prison.”

“I broke the law.”

“The people who died . . . that wasn’t your fault.”

“A judge and jury may not agree.”

“But you’re cooperating with law enforcement.”

“That may help, but there are no guarantees. I also stole a large amount of money.”

“Not for yourself.”

“Stealing is stealing. Prison is a very real possibility, Kimberly.” He wasn’t going to sugarcoat the truth.

She laid her cold fingers on his. “Whatever happens, I’ll be here—waiting.”

His vision misted. What had he done to deserve such a generous, forgiving, loving woman? “I don’t know how to begin to thank you.”

“Just keep loving me.”

“Until the day I die.”

She twined her fingers with his. “Do you want to sit out here together for a while?”

“I’d like that.”

Silence fell, broken only by the chirp of a bird in the oak tree beside the screened porch and the muted laughter of children at play in a neighboring yard. The ordinary sounds of everyday, normal life.

But to him, they sounded like Handel’s Messiah.

For despite all he’d done . . . despite his many faults and weaknesses and mistakes . . . the woman he adored still loved him.

And no matter how many years he might have to spend in prison paying for his crimes, she’d honor her promise to wait for him until he returned to her.

As far as he was concerned, that was a miracle—and as close as he’d ever get to heaven on earth.