The grand estate no longer felt like a cold fortress of stone and isolation. The heavy oak doors were frequently left unlocked during the day; local children visited the gardens for foundation-sponsored art classes; and the echoes of laughter replaced the tense silences of the past.

One evening in late April, after the children had been tucked safely into bed, Daniel and I sat out on the stone balcony of the East Wing suite. The night air was warm and fragrant with the scent of blooming jasmine from the courtyard below.

Daniel poured two glasses of aged wine, handing one to me before pulling me close against his side.

"You know," Daniel murmured, looking out at the glittering lights of Ashport harbor in the distance, "I used to think my entire purpose in life was simply to hold this estate together against the tide."

"And now?" I asked, resting my head against his shoulder.

"Now I realize the estate was just waiting for you to walk through the front door and turn on all the lights."

I smiled, turning in his embrace to wrap my arms around his neck. "We did it together, Mr. Danielson."