PART 1

For almost four years, my six-year-old daughter, Lily, and I had been a family of two.

After my husband died, I stopped making long-term plans. I focused on things I could control—school lunches, dentist visits, Friday movie nights.

Then Derek came into our lives.

He never tried to replace Lily’s father, and maybe that was why she trusted him so quickly.

Once, she asked him, “If you marry Mom, do I have to call you Dad?”

Derek put down his spoon.

“Nope. You already had a dad.”

Lily thought about it.

“So what do I call you?”

“Derek is fine. Your Majesty also works.”

She frowned.

“I’ll stick with Derek.”

That was the kind of relationship they had.

So when Derek proposed, I said yes without hesitation.

For the first time in years, I allowed myself to believe that our family might grow instead of fall apart.

There was only one complication.