The final pages of the document listed Burke’s assets that could be put up as collateral against the loan. There was the theater itself, and the real estate—mostly condos and apartments. Burke had even listed the house. Only the talent agency—which didn’t qualify as property—had been spared. He was risking everything he had to get this loan.

Was that why he’d asked her to divorce him—so she could salvage some of his assets before they became collateral that would be lost in the event of foreclosure or bankruptcy? Or did he simply want to spare her the humiliation of watching him go down if his gamble didn’t pay off?

Given what she knew about Burke, his reasons were bound to be complicated. But he was her husband, and she loved him. Any choice she made would be made with her heart. And her heart was telling her to stand by her man and do everything in her power to help him win.

The only question was how.

What would Kate have done? And what would Burke have done if he’d still been married to her?

With the file drawer open, she slipped the loan papers into the front. Then, braced for an emotional battering, she opened the file drawer, lifted the packet of letters out of the back and opened the next envelope.

Dearest Burke,

I’d almost forgotten what pregnancy is like—the morning sickness, the cravings, the mood swings, and the magic of that first little flutter kick, the sudden awareness that there’s somebody home down there—a sweet little somebody who is growing into a real live person.

This morning as I was loading the dishwasher, I felt our baby move. Instinctively, I looked around for you to share the news and invite you to feel with your hand on my belly. But of course you were five hundred miles away, Brianna was in preschool, and I was alone in the house. Only Captain was here to gaze up at me and wonder, in his doggy way, why I was bawling like an emotional fool. It was as if all the joy, the worry, and the loneliness had hit me at once, like a doubled-up fist.

It will pass, of course. I’ll be fine. I’m always fine. You know that all too well. I just wish I wasn’t so blasted easy for you to leave . . .

Kate’s schoolgirl script stopped in midsentence, halfway down the page, leaving a blank space at the bottom. But the letter wasn’t finished. Two more pages followed, as if she’d left off writing, then continued some time later.

Burke,