That Sunday night Aunt Marion watched as the boys said their good-byes in the front hall. The door was left wide open so that Murray, the chauffeur, had enough room to carry the boys' belongings out to the waiting limousine. It never failed—the boys always arrived with two bags and left with six. A burst of cold air blew through the front hall, and Richard Thorn, a handsome dark-haired man in his late fifties, stood off to one side and moved his arms in an effort to keep warm. He wanted to give his wife Ann some time to say good-bye to the boys. It hadn't been easy for her, marrying into a family as wealthy and tradition-bound as the Thorns. With great wealth, as with anything in excess, there were always complications. Neither of the boys was her own; Mark's mother, a lovely woman named Mary, who had been much closer in age to Richard than Ann was, had been killed suddenly in a freak car accident less than a year before Damien had come to live with Richard. For several months after the accident, Richard had been left to look after six-year-old Mark, and shortly thereafter Damien arrived. Richard's friends and family had been relieved to hear of his marriage to Ann; everyone understood that he needed someone to help raise the two boys. Ann was a bright, witty, attractive woman, full of energy and fun, and with an abundance of love and compassion for the tragedy-ridden family into which she had married. Damien took to her immediately; with Mark, it had taken a bit longer—but then he couldn't help comparing her to his mother, whom he had worshipped.

Now, seven years later, Ann stood in the doorway, hugging both boys at the same time, kissing their foreheads, making them promise to be good and to write, trying hard not to cry. Watching all this, Richard was suddenly filled with renewed love for this remarkable woman who had come into his life at such a difficult and desperate time.

Mark broke away and ran up to Richard for a final hug. 'See you for our birthday, right, Dad?'

'You bet. Damien? Come here. Give your old man a hug, too.' Damien rushed over, although not quite so exuberantly. In the midst of a three-way hug, Murray appeared in the doorway and gave a discreet cough.

Ann laughed. ‘We can take a hint, Murray,' she said, and moved toward Richard and the boys. Her men. 'Okay, guys, time to go.' After more hugs and kisses, the boys were finally ushered into the back seat of the sleek black car. Doors slammed, noses were pressed against the cold windowpanes for a last kiss good-bye, and then the car eased away, crunching gravel as it went down the driveway.

Richard and Ann stood together on the front steps and waved until the car rounded a bend and disappeared from sight.