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she flipped the pages,
    memories of Grammy’s voice reading the story to her night after night
    echoing in her mind. She had so loved the awkward little duck and had
    cheered the lonely creature on as he battled his way through the story.
    Hugging the book to her chest, she imagined reading it to her own child
    one day. Was that the reason Grammy had put it in the chest-did she
    foresee a baby in Rebecca’s future?

    A little boy or girl with dark-black hair and green eyes. A little boy
    who had an amazing similarity to Thomas Emerson.

    What in heaven’s name was she thinking?

    Feeling foolish, she propped the book on the floor beside her and
    searched the hope chest, unearthing an antique comb, brush and mirror
    set. Grammy Rose’s. She’d seen it on the antique dresser in the guest
    bedroom where Rebecca had slept as a child when she’d stayed overnight.

    Sentiment squeezed at her chest as she slid the brush through her hair,
    remembering the times she’d done so at her grandmother’s. She’d stood in
    front of the mirror for hours, brushing her hair, pretending she was
    Rapunzel with long, flowing, silky hair.

    Pretending she was beautiful. That a handsome prince would rescue her
    from being imprisoned in the tower.

    She raised the silver mirror and stared at her reflection.

    No beauty there.

    Oh, she wasn’t bad to look at, she admitted. Even with wire-rimmed
    glasses, her eyes were a nice shade of blue, and her skin smooth and
    creamy. Her mouth wasn’t bad, although her nose was a little too long,
    and the tiny freckles on her nose made her look about twelve years old.
    No, she definitely wasn’t ugly. Besides, looks were more about what lay
    on the inside than the outside. She cared about others and had a good
    heart. But she just wasn’t the beauty queen type. Or the type to attract
    and hold on to a man like Thomas.

    She wasn’t imprisoned in a lonely tower, either. She had a decent
    apartment, a good job, and her cousins lived close by. And Uncle Wiley.

    Refusing to batter her self-esteem any longer, she placed the mirror and
    brush set back in the chest, her eyes narrowing when she found another
    book inside. Not a children’s book, but a book of poetry.

    She traced a finger over the worn leather binding, surprised at the
    title. “Passions.” Blushing, she opened the book, her mouth dropping
    open when she noticed the pages filled with drawings of erotic love
    poses. A poem had been written beside each nude sketch.

    Oh, my goodness. She flipped back to the title page and gasped at the
    sight of her grandmother’s name printed inside.

    Not only did the book belong to Grammy, but she had been one of the
    contributing artists and poets!

    Thomas placed baby girl McGee in her mother’s arms, his heart finally
    steadying after the harrowing

    delivery. When Nora had arrived, she was already fully dilated, but the
    baby hadn’t dropped. It was also breech, and he’d tried to turn it, but
    the fetus had gone into distress, and he’d finally resorted to a
    C-section. A wise move, since she had had the cord wound around her neck
    at birth and hadn’t been breathing.

    Terrence had passed out and nearly fallen into Thomas as he’d given the
    baby oxygen.

    “Thank you, Doctor,” Nora said, tears seeping into her eyes. “She’s
    beautiful.”

    Terrence shoved a hand through sweat-soaked hair, looking worse than his
    wife as she nestled the baby to nurse her.

    Terrence curved an arm around his wife. “She looks like you, Norrie.”

    Thomas’s throat closed. It never ceased to touch him when parents held
    their child for the first time. And it was nice to see the baby with two
    loving parents.

    Miracles did exist.

    Only, there hadn’t been one for his family.

    The day he’d lost a brother, his entire family had fallen apart. His
    mother had sunk into a deep postpartum depression and told his father
    she didn’t want him around anymore. She didn’t need him. His father