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First published November 16, 2014

She only had vague memories of the man. She’d been eighteen—at home for the summer after her freshman year in college. Mr. Alexander and his wife were just a new couple at the church with a newborn baby.
“How old are you?” She straightened her spine. “Twenty-seven. What does that have to do with anything?” “I’m thirty-eight. I’ve already been married and have a daughter. We’re at different places in life. I’d feel like I was taking advantage of you.”
She wondered what had happened with his ex-wife, but she wasn’t quite comfortable enough with him to ask about it.
Gabe had given it to her a couple of weeks ago, in a romantic gesture that consisted of thrusting the box at her and saying, “Here. You might wear this.”
Because she could easily read the look in Gabe’s eyes as he looked down at his daughter. And it was more than obvious that Ellie had been right in what she’d said earlier. There was no way any woman could have an equal place in his heart.
Ellie hadn’t done anything that was genuinely naughty. She’d just made it clear that she wished Lydia wasn’t around.
Lydia felt an odd, completely irrational pang in her chest. They were clearly family—as close as people could get. She wasn’t part of it. She might be marrying Gabe, but she wasn’t going to be part of this family. She would always be an outsider.
“Daddy?” a voice came from behind her.
“Thank you. Are you done hugging her now?” “Yes,” he said, with a low chuckle, reaching down for his daughter. “Now I can hug you.”
She was going to have sex. With her husband. For the first time. She was going to have sex with Gabe.
“Because I told you from the beginning that I don’t think I can trust another woman with—” “Your heart.” She knew she was finishing his sentences, but she just needed to get this conversation over with.
“Okay,” he said slowly, getting up too. “Maybe we should take a step back, just to make sure things are okay between us. I don’t want there to be any confusion.”
“He took on flesh. He took our flesh. He lived our life. He breathed our breath.” Daniel’s brown eyes held hers without wavering. “He ate bread, and he drank wine, and he built things with iron and wood.”
“And he laughed when it was a funny, and he cried when it hurt. And he kissed and hugged the people he loved. He bled when he died.”
“He took on flesh, Lydia. He lived for thirty years before he started to preach. Think about what that means. And then tell me that living your life—right now, every day—doesn’t really matter. That loving your husband and that girl who is now your daughter isn’t really that important.”