It was a while before they got out, and by the end of it, her legs were so loose, it was a good thing she didn’t have far to go. Wrapped in Rhage’s robe, she padded over to the bureau to take out her pearl earrings while he went to the laundry hamper in their walk-in closet with the clothes they’d left everywhere.

She’d taken one of the studs out when she noticed the folder. “What’s this?”

“What’s what?” he said from the closet.

Opening the front cover . . .

. . . she felt the breath leave her lungs.

When Rhage came out of the walk-in, he was feeling really damn good about life. Yeah, sure, the cop had prevailed at pool again, but after what his Mary had just treated him with? He was the true winner.

That shower sesh had been straight-up Olympian, top-of-the-mountain, land-speed-record stuff.

Walking out, he . . .

. . . stopped where he was.

Mary was sitting in the chair beside their bureau, her little pink feet on the carpet, her body engulfed by his bathrobe, her head down with her damp hair hanging forward. In her lap, open wide, was a folder that Rhage didn’t recognize.

But he knew what she was looking at.

Rhage went back into the closet and pulled on a pair of nylon track pants. On second thought, he added that AHS sweatshirt he’d worn the other night. Coming back out, he walked over to the bed and sat down.

Mary looked up when she got to the last page. “What is this? I mean . . .” She shook her head. “I think I know what it is. I just . . .”

Rhage gripped the edge of the mattress and leaned into his arms. Strangely, the antiques in the room, the heavy drapes, the pattern in the carpet, it all became much too clear, everything around him sharpening to the point that he winced.

“I didn’t ask Saxton to print all that out,” he blurted.

“Adoption papers? That’s what these are, aren’t they? I mean, I’m not completely versed in the Old Language, but I can catch the drift.”

“Look, we don’t have to do anything with them. It’s not like . . . I mean, I’m not suggesting we adopt her. I asked Vishous if he could help find her uncle—yes, I know you didn’t tell me to, but I thought if any of my brothers could help, it was him. He went into some databases kept at the Audience House and found nothing. Checked some other places, too. There was no trace of anything, no family, no uncle. And, ah, I talked to him about you and me and the kid thing. He was the one who brought up the adoption process and then followed through with it on his own.”

Mary closed the folder and laid her hand on it. When she didn’t say anything further, he cursed. “I’m sorry. Maybe I should have talked to you first about my going to Vishous—”

“Marissa thinks I’m over-involved. With Bitty, that is. That’s what we were going back and forth about before Last Meal. She thinks I’m crossing professional lines, making it too personal.”

“Wow.”

“And even though I argued with her . . . she’s right. I am.”

Rhage’s heart skipped a beat from dread. “What are you saying?”

There was a long period of quiet. And then she shrugged. “I’ve been around a lot of young people. Not just at Safe Place, but also before, when I was working with my autistic kids.” She looked over. “Do you remember when I was staying at Bella’s? And I told you I didn’t want to see you anymore?”

Rhage closed his eyes, memories of that horrible confrontation coming back to him. For some reason, he remembered the quilt in that guestroom she’d been sleeping in, that handmade quilt with its blocks and slices of color. Mary had been on the bed when he’d come in. And even though she had been just across the way from him, he’d felt as if they were a world apart.

“Yes,” he said roughly. “I remember.”

“I was in so much pain that I couldn’t imagine bringing anyone down with me. I was blocked off, closed up, ready to go lose the battle that I really wasn’t interested in fighting anymore. I pushed you hard. But you came anyway. You came and . . . and in you, I saw a beacon I couldn’t turn away from.”

I’m not okay.

In his mind, he heard her say those words. Felt her body nearly tackle his as she ran out of that house after him as he’d stood there, holding the moon in his palm just as she’d shown him to.

“I guess I’ve felt as though Bitty was like me. I mean, for the last however long I’ve known her, she’s been completely closed up. Even when her mother was around, she was like this insular little creature, watching, pushing people away, closing herself off. And after the abuse, and then the deaths? I never blamed her. I just wanted desperately to reach her. It was like . . . well, in retrospect, I think I’ve been trying to save my old self.”

“She really opened up last night,” Rhage offered. “At least, I felt like she did. I wouldn’t know, though—”

“That was my point to Marissa. I don’t know if the normal protocols of treatment would have reached her. And she is responding. I took her to my mom’s grave. Then we bought M&M’s at the local Hannaford. She is just beginning a very hard journey and I don’t want to stop helping her.”

“Is Marissa reassigning you?” he demanded.

“No, she just thinks I’m emotionally involved—and I am, I admit it. Bitty’s special to me.”

Rhage glanced down at the folder, which Mary had brought to her chest and held in place—in a way that he wasn’t sure she was aware of.

“Mary.”

When she finally looked up, he felt like he was leaping off a cliff. The good news? If he had to be flying through mid-air with anyone, he could think of nobody better than his shellan.

“We could give her a good home.”

As Mary’s eyes grew watery, he got up and went to her, kneeling down in front of his shellan and putting his hands on her legs.

“You don’t want to say it, do you,” he whispered.

She took a shuddering breath. And then shook her head. “It wasn’t supposed to happen for us. We were just talking about it. It’s not . . . supposed to happen for us. The parent thing.”

“Says who?”

Mary opened her mouth. Then it shut as she held those papers even harder to her heart. “I was okay with it. I really was. I really . . . with me never being a mother.”

As her tears started to fall, Rhage reached up and wiped his love’s face. “It’s okay if you can’t say it. Because I’ll say it for you. You would be . . . the most wonderful mahmen to that little girl. Bitty would be so lucky to have you in her life.”

The words he spoke seemed to crush her in some way, and he knew exactly how she was feeling. He had been prepared to come to terms with missing out on a huge part of life, because among the many blessings he had been given, being a father was not among them. And yes, it was a sort of cruelty to have that door that he had so resolutely closed get knocked on so soon.

But there was one thing he knew for damn sure.

If by some miracle they were called upon by fate to step up to the plate for that little girl? He was going to be there without hesitation. And he knew without asking that his Mary was going to be the same.

Parents.

It would be a miracle.

Mary was surprised by the great, yawning chasm of pain that had opened up in the center of her chest.

And as she thought about it all, she decided, yes, it was entirely possible that she might have been sublimating the whole child-less thing . . . self-medicating an unacknowledged agony with honest good works that served those who needed help during their most vulnerable moments.

With a shudder, she leaned forward and Rhage was there to catch her as she fell off the chair and into his lap on the floor. As his arms wrapped around her and held her close, she hugged that folder full of papers as tightly as she could.