Amber. Daniel slowed and stopped at red. His team sat around the table enthralled with his speech, drinking in his heartfelt thanks for being part of the success of Crossroads Counseling. But in the corner of one photo, just under his elbow, someone was not enthralled. Above folded arms, Kelly’s eyes rolled, boredom writ large on her face.

Green light.

Daniel fumed as he sped away. So much for a truce. He had tried, bringing up issues in the right way, fighting to keep his professional knowledge at bay, hard as it was.

Daniel slowed as he pulled up to another red light.

Two photos left. Kelly’s suitcase stood next to the front door. Balancing on it was a piece of paper emblazoned with the purple logo of that bank he’d never done business with. Daniel remembered welcoming people to his home, and her suitcase wasn’t there then. He closed his eyes and breathed hard. She needed to talk to someone, but she wanted to go to counseling only if she picked the professional, and he couldn’t afford for that to happen. He would just have to talk her into seeing Anna.

Daniel pulled the last photo from the envelope. The group photo, to be enlarged and hung proudly in the reception area at Crossroads. The oranges and reds of the sunset burned behind the group, on every face a sharp smile for the camera.

But one face wasn’t looking at the camera.

A sinking feeling built in the pit of his stomach. He stood next to his wife, but Anna was looking up at him, a glistening admiration in her eyes, a beaming smile on her lips.

But what he saw next stopped his heart.

He was holding hands.

With Anna.

What on earth was this? He had not done that; he was sure. Or had he, without knowing? His mind scrambled, whisked by doubt. Had he? He was sure he hadn’t!

Sweat beaded on his brow. He had promised to hang this photo at Crossroads, but there was no way he could allow that now.

His eyes drifted to the right-hand side of the photograph, past the entire group that Daniel had toasted for the success of Crossroads Counseling.

Another figure was in the photo.

Standing next to Peter was an old man, hair graying around his temples and flowing behind him, a hippie frozen in time. The thick black glasses perched on the end of his nose and the sparkle in his eyes were unmistakable.

A chill swept through Daniel.

His mentor. The founder of Crossroads.

Howard Jones.

Howard clasped a thick sheaf of dog-eared papers, with two big, black, chunky words on the front page.

No Secrets.

Beneath that, three smaller words: by Howard Jones.

Green light.

Flashes of light fired behind Daniel’s eyes.

Howard held the manuscript Daniel had found in his desk just after he passed away.

Green light.