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It’s astonishing how strong is our instinct to pick a favorite archetype and ignore the rest. Especially since we associate Lover, Mother, and Sage in particular with specific ages and phases of life. Somehow the Warrior transcends, since most of us know we can fight ferociously for our beliefs at any age. But how can a woman who is only 17 relate to the Mother? How can a woman in her eighties connect with the Lover? How can a woman who just celebrated her 37th birthday call herself a Sage?

Here’s a gentle reminder that all four archetypes are present in ALL of us at all times. One may dominate for a while, but the others are still there, waiting to be called forth. And the key to a fulfilled, rich, rewarding life is to find ways to integrate all four into your core identity.

You’ll see as you make your way through this book that these essential aspects should not always be interpreted literally. Yes, the Lover embodies physical attraction, lust, and sensuality … but that’s not all. She is also boldness, joy, and passion in any form, including artistic, intellectual, and scientific. The Sage represents wisdom, experience, and hard-won knowledge … but that’s not all. She is also intuition, savvy, and intelligence in any form, including emotional, mathematical, and cultural.

Yet these two can war within us. When we are young, we fight the idea that we have an old, wise person within us. And when we are old, we often feel embarrassed when our sensual urges begin to surface, as if the youthful aspects of our true selves have died off.

But the Lover and the Sage are actually perfect partners. Age is relative and flexible. How old we are is more solidly connected to how we’ve lived our lives than it is tethered to how many birthdays we’ve racked up. And when we work to integrate the Lover and the Sage, we embrace this spectrum with open arms.

When we are young and feel directly and naturally connected to the Lover, we can invite the Sage to express herself through us. Acknowledge that we are, in fact, aging and that the process is a natural, valuable, beautiful one. As we grow and learn, we distill and refine our personalities. We become more solid in ourselves, more uniquely individual. Tempting as it is to cling to youth, aging is a gift, an experience that enables us to become more interesting, multi-faceted, whole people. We are not wearing our bodies out, we are learning to stand tall in our true selves.

When we are old and feel directly and naturally connected to the Sage, we can invite the Lover to express herself through us. We can do our best to allow youthful hope, enthusiasm, and excitement into our lives, and resist the urge to default to cynicism or weariness. We can express our sexuality freely and in ways that energize us, shunning the idea that passion has an expiration date. Our bodies may feel old, but our souls are still young. We now have the life experience and wisdom to know when it makes sense to stick to tradition and formality, but we don’t quash urges to rebel or express our views. When those urges rise up, we accept and respect them. When life issues an invitation to be bold and loud and lustful, we accept it gladly. We are not failing to “act our age,” we are honoring the vibrant, vital aspects of our holistic selves.

Think of Queen Cleopatra; She is, undeniably, a venerable Warrior first and foremost. She overthrew all other claimants to the Egyptian throne, and did so in a time when it was quite common for siblings to marry and share power. But she was a legendary Lover as well, and knew how to leverage her innate sensuality to get exactly what she wanted. One of her most famous exploits involves her shrewd courting of Julius Caesar; Apparently, she wrapped herself in a rug and paid servants to smuggle her into Caesar’s sleeping quarters. There, she pled her case to him, convincing him to support her in the raging Egyptian civil war. And while she did this through outright seduction, can you see how the Sage was present, too? Cleopatra was wise enough to know that demanding an audience with Caesar wouldn’t be as effective as insinuating herself into his presence. She had experienced enough of life to understand that asserting herself as his equal would backfire and that, as a woman, she had a better shot at getting what she needed by playing up her feminine wiles. When you add in her Mothering desire to protect her mother country at any cost, Egypt, it’s safe to say that Cleopatra lived out all four archetypes in integrated harmony.

It’s so easy to take the Mother literally; to consign her to bearing and rearing children and nothing else. And, of course, these activities are some of the most rewarding and fulfilling that we women can experience! But the Mother can use her caretaker energies to show love for friends, students, family members, even strangers. The Mother represents the nurturing, healing, empathetic side of a woman, and that side has many facets and many expressions.

Mother and Sage may seem like a more natural partnership than Lover and Sage, and there are some organic compatibilities there, to be sure. Both Mother and Sage tend to radiate serenity, gentle authority, and sympathy. But while the Mother is often selfless and focused on protecting the weak and vulnerable, the Sage may turn her energies inward. Exploring spirituality and accumulating wisdom—both Sage activities—are often done solo, and involve highly individual soul-searching. There’s also an age-based hang-up here; Mothers are generally younger women, and fertile. Sages are older and beyond their childbearing years. It can be challenging to find a place where those two stages of life overlap.

So how do we integrate these two successfully?

When we feel ourselves retreating into solitary, Sage-like contemplation, we call on the Mother to remind us that nothing great was ever kept secret. We transform studying alone or praying in silence into sharing, questioning, and exploring. And then we use what we’ve learned to help, support, and enlighten others.

When we feel ourselves giving to others in a Mother-like way until we’re overextended and depleted, we call on the Sage to help us create healthy boundaries. We remember that to honor ourselves, we must care for ourselves, and that means knowing when to say no, back off, and guard our energy. And then we recharge in our own time, making a wise, considered plan to avoid overextension in the future.

And when we feel weathered and worn and decidedly infertile, we remember that fertility can manifest in many ways. We may have a fertile imagination, a fertile social life, or a fertile mind as we enter our Sage phase.

And when we feel filled with the vibrant robustness of vital adulthood, we remember that moving toward old age means accumulating experience, insight, and wisdom. And that process is a tremendous blessing.

Biologist and conservationist Rachel Carson was a compassionate Mother, through and through. She was one of the first people to recognize that human activities were injuring and decimating the natural world, and she fought to protect the Earth. Her book Silent Spring is considered to be the spark that ignited the environmentalist movement of the 1960s, and without her fierce desire to nurture and care for our planet, this work might never have been published.

But Carson’s strong secondary archetype is the Sage. She was a trained and dedicated scientist who both valued research and sought to translate hard data into actionable recommendations. She was thoughtful and contemplative, and it was her intuition that led her to investigate the effects that the pesticide DDT was having on American wildlife. The Sage guided her to distill facts into wisdom, and the Mother fueled her instinct to protect our shared environment.

Rachel Carson never married, but tapped the Lover through her passionate dedication to her work and the creativity she employed in her eloquent writings. Silent Spring eventually led to the creation of the Environmental Protection Agency, but when it was released in 1962, Carson was brutally attacked in the press by chemical companies that wanted her work discredited. Calling on her inner Warrior, she fought back against these false claims and prevailed. Another great example of a woman who identifies strongly with two archetypes, but embodies them all!

July…

Adrianna took off her white long-sleeved chef's coat and tossed it into the laundry basket in the break room of Vincenzo's Restaurant. She then released her long, brown hair from a constricting tie, feeling an immediate release of tension, as the waves cascaded down her shoulders. It had been a long, exhausting night in the kitchen, but it was the kind of exhaustion she loved. Becoming a chef had been her dream since she was a little girl, and at twenty-eight she was beginning to make a name for herself.

Lindsay Rogers entered the room and gave her a tired smile. The tall, willowy blonde was one of the sous chefs and also a good friend, which sometimes surprised Adrianna, because they were as different in personality as they were in looks. Lindsay was outgoing, funny, and while she liked her job, Lindsay wasn't particularly ambitious. Adrianna had a quieter sense of humor and was far more focused and driven. But then she hadn't had time for a lot of fun in her life. Survival had been her single focus for as long as she could remember. One day, she wanted to get to that place where she could relax, take a breath, look around and see what she'd been missing. But that day wasn't today.

“That last party took forever to leave,” Lindsay said, as she removed her jacket. “Toast after toast until they were all drunk. Will had to call two cabs to get them out of here.”

She smiled. “They were having a good time. That's what it's all about.” Nothing made her happier than watching people enjoy her food and enjoy themselves.

“I guess.” Lindsay rolled her head around on her shoulders.

“We're lucky business has been so good,” Adrianna added. “The winter was very slow.”

Throughout January and February, she'd been worried that the restaurant might have to close because the owner and executive chef, Giovanni Ricci, was having health problems. Fortunately, his nephew, Stephan, had stepped in and taken over, turning things around in just a few months. She missed Giovanni's tutelage in the kitchen, but because of his absence she'd also gained more responsibility. Her life always seemed to be a mix of good and bad.

“The customers are coming because of you,” Lindsay said as she stepped up to the mirror to apply some lip gloss. “Your reputation is growing. Stephan is about a day away from making you executive chef.”

“I'm not so sure about that. In sixty years, Vincenzo's has never had an executive chef who wasn't a Ricci.”

“That's true, but while Stephan is a competent chef, he's better in the front of the house. He loves to market and greet customers. You're the one who makes the magic in the kitchen, and Stephan is smart enough to know that. You're pretty much doing the job anyway,” Lindsay added, as she turned around. “And you know Will is talking you up to Stephan every chance he gets.”

“He's been very supportive,” she said. Will Grayson was the head bartender, and her boyfriend, although, it still felt a little strange to think of him in those terms. She and Will had been friends for four years until a coworker's wedding reception and a lot of champagne had taken them from friends to lovers.

“Speaking of Will — he seems distracted lately,” Lindsay said. “Is something going on with him?”

“Nothing that I know about. He was probably just stressed with all the big parties we had tonight.”

“You're right. You need to take him home and make him feel better, as only you can,” Lindsay said with a teasing smile. She moved away from the mirror, grabbed Will's jacket off the coat rack and tossed it to Adrianna.

As the jacket flew through the air, something fell out of one of the pockets onto the floor.

Lindsay and Adrianna both reached for it at the same time, but it was Lindsay who came up with the blue velvet box.

“Oh my God,” Lindsay said, meeting Adrianna's gaze. “Will is going to propose to you.”

Adrianna stared at the ring box in shock and wariness. “No. It's way too soon.”

“You've been friends forever.”

“But not boyfriend, girlfriend. That's new. Don't open it,” she warned as Lindsay's fingers toyed with the lid.

“Why not? Don't you want to see the ring?”

“We don't know that it's an engagement ring. It could be something else.”

“Only one way to find out.”

“No.” She shook her head and scrambled to her feet, worry and panic running through her. She wasn't ready for an engagement, for marriage, or even for a promise. She didn't want Will to give her a ring of any kind.

“If it's a bad ring, you'll have a chance to compose your reaction when he shows it to you,” Lindsay said practically, as she stood up. “You don't want to have a look of disappointment on your face. I know you would try to be polite, but let's be real, a sucky ring is not the way to start out a marriage.”

“I don't want to see it,” she said quickly.

Lindsay frowned. “What is wrong with you?”

How could she explain to someone who as easy and casual about love as Lindsay that for her love, marriage, and family was a huge dream but also a terrifying proposition? She'd locked her heart away a very long time ago, and while Will had been chipping away at her resolve to stay detached, he wasn't even close to breaking through. How could Will think otherwise?

“Please, put it away before he comes in here,” she said shortly.

“Okay, okay, calm down.” Lindsay slipped the ring box back in Will's jacket pocket and hung the jacket on the rack. “There — it's out of sight. And we'll pretend we never saw it.”

“Good,” she said, blowing out a breath.

“Can I ask why you're so rattled? I thought you and Will were happy together.” Her gaze narrowed thoughtfully. “Don't you want Will to propose? I thought you two were getting along really well.”

“I haven't thought about it. It's all about work for me right now. And I thought it was for him, too.”

“Oh, I don't think so, Adrianna. Will isn't as driven as you are, but then nobody is.” Lindsay gave her a soft smile. “I'm going to go. I have a late date. It's Jack – as in Jack who gives me a heart attack because he's so hot.”

“Lucky you,” she said, thrilled that the conversation was no longer about her.

“Call me tomorrow. I want to know what happens with the ring.”

As Lindsay left the break room, Adrianna stared at Will's jacket for a long moment. Maybe it wasn't what she thought. Perhaps the ring belonged to someone else. He might be holding on to it for one of his friends.

Despite her rationalization, there was still a gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach.  Will had always been the one after her, the one pushing for more. But he also knew her better than anyone else, so he had to know she wasn't ready. 

With a sigh, she grabbed her own coat and bag and returned to the kitchen. The room was empty. Everyone had left, except for Will, who was staring at his phone with an odd expression on his face.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

He looked up and nodded, but his gaze was distant, as if he were thinking about something else.

“Are you sure?” she prodded.

“I need to talk to you, Adrianna.”

“That doesn't sound good.”

His eyes darkened.  “It's not bad. It's just … important.”

Her stomach tightened. “Can we do it later? It's been a really long night. I'm exhausted, and I just want to go home and fall into bed.”

His lips turned down into a frown. “I don't think this can wait until tomorrow. I've been putting it off, and I can't do it any longer.”

“Well, it has to wait a few more minutes,” she said, stalling for time. If he did ask her to marry him, what on earth would she say? No would hurt his feelings. But yes didn't work either. She wasn't ready to get married. She set her bag on the counter and picked up the box she'd left out. “I promised the kids pizza.”

Disappointment and annoyance filled his eyes. “Adrianna, you told me three days ago you would call the police about those homeless kids.”

“I will – tomorrow.”

“You always say that. I understand that you had problems with the system when you were a kid, but it's there for a reason. Those children need more than leftover pizza.”

He was right, but she was still debating her options. About a week ago, she'd found three kids digging through the trash, and she'd given them a hot meal. Since then they'd come by the restaurant almost every night around closing time. She didn't know if they were homeless or neglected, but she knew they needed help. She also knew that they weren't going to let her help them if they didn't trust her.

“I'll be back in a minute.” She grabbed the pizza box and headed out the back door into the alley behind the restaurant. She was only a few feet away from the door when three kids emerged from the shadows.

The oldest, a boy, seemed to be about twelve. Then there was a girl around ten, and a younger child, who appeared to be about eight. She'd tried to get their names, but only the boy had been willing to tell her that his name was Ben. He'd assured her that they had somewhere to stay; they just needed food. He'd begged her not to call the police, and his words had hit a nerve. She'd once been a child of the street and sometimes a back alley was safer than a foster home.

But sometimes it wasn't.

She needed to think like an adult now.  

“This can't go on,” she told Ben, holding the pizza hostage until she got some answers. “You shouldn't be out alone this late. It's not safe or healthy. I want to help you, but you're going to have to tell me more about your situation.”

“We just need a little extra food.”

“Where are your parents?”

“They're coming back tomorrow. We'll be fine then,” he said.

She didn't believe him. She glanced from him to the two girls. The older girl looked so sleepy she could barely keep her eyes open, but the younger one was alert, wariness in her bright blue eyes.

“Can we have the pizza?” Ben asked.

“Who's watching you until your parents come back?”

“My mom's friend,” he said.

“And where does this friend think you are right now?”

“She works til late. We'll be home before she gets there.”

“Why don't I take you home?” she suggested. “I'll just get my coat and bag.”

“It's not far from here. We'll be fine. You don't have to worry.”

“I want to help you, Ben.”

“The food is enough,” he said.

Before she could continue the argument, she heard a crash, followed by two loud pops.

It took a second for the sounds to register in her brain.

Gunshots!

Her heart jumped into her throat. She'd grown up in neighborhoods where gunshots were not that uncommon, but this was North Beach, an upscale part of San Francisco. It didn't make sense.

She looked down the alley and saw two dark, hooded figures running down the street. A sudden terror swept through her. Had the shots come from inside the restaurant?

Oh, God!

Will was alone in the kitchen.

She ran through the back door, praying that the shots had come from somewhere else. The kitchen was empty.

“Will,” she screamed.

No answer.

Running into the dining room, her worst fear came true. Will lay on the floor near the bar, blood pooling around his head.

“No!” she screamed, dropping to her knees.

His open eyes stared back at her, but there was no longer any life in them.

“You can't be dead,” she said, shaking her head in denial. “You can't be. You have to wake up. This is just a bad dream. You're all right.”  She put her hands on his face. His skin was still warm. She needed to do something, CPR, call 9-1-1, but even as she pressed her hands against his chest, she knew it wasn't going to matter.

Will was dead.

Sirens split the air, and then cops were coming in the door, pulling her away from Will, asking her questions, setting up crime scene tape, and all she could do was stare at the man who had been her best friend, her lover, and if she'd never left the restaurant, maybe her fiancé. 

August …

Seven weeks had passed since the robbery at Vincenzo's had left Will dead and destroyed her life. Adrianna had run through all the stages of grief — shock, denial, pain, guilt, anger, bewilderment, and depression. Now she was supposed to be able to move on with her life, but so far she hadn't been able to do anything but cower in her apartment, watch daytime talk shows, attempt to find some sort of interest in knitting and avoid her kitchen and anything that had to do with cooking. Cooking had once been her therapy, but every time she saw the gleaming steel of her appliances, she was reminded of Will, of Vincenzo's, of a life that had been so good but had gone so wrong.

She'd hoped the police would find Will's killer or killers and that justice would bring closure, but that had yet to occur. There were no witnesses. Vincenzo's had had no security cameras operating. They'd planned to put in cameras during a future remodel. The only motivation for the robbery seemed to be money. The police believed that Will had surprised the thieves and possibly attempted to stop them, resulting in his getting shot.

It was difficult to come to terms with a murder so random, so impulsive, so impersonal. But there didn't seem to be any other explanation, not that any other explanation would have changed the results. Will was dead. She'd lost a friend, and the world had lost a really good person.

Adrianna drew in a quick breath as she stepped out of her apartment building into the sunshine. Being outside made her feel shaky and uncertain. She'd gotten used to the shadowy interior of her one bedroom apartment, and she rarely ventured out unless she absolutely had to.

Today, she absolutely had to …

Stephan Ricci wanted to talk to her about her job, her future, and she couldn't put him off any longer. Stephan had reopened Vincenzo's three weeks after the shooting. He'd told her that he'd added new security measures and had made cosmetic improvements to the restaurant so that it wouldn't feel the same to either the staff or the customers. But she doubted a coat of paint and new furniture would erase her memories.

It was different for the others. They hadn't been there that night. It was easier for them to return to work. They hadn't witnessed the tragedy first hand. They hadn't ended up with Will's blood all over their clothes. She shuddered at that thought and wondered if she'd ever be able to remember Will without remembering him staring up at her with unseeing eyes.

Stop it, she told herself. Stop going back there.

As she walked down the sidewalk, she tried to think of something else. Her apartment building was only a few blocks from Vincenzo's, and ordinarily she enjoyed the walk to work. North Beach was known as San Francisco's Little Italy, and there were plenty of red-checked Italian cafés and old world delicatessens. There were also coffee houses that didn't just serve up lattes but also hosted poetry nights, folk singers and jazz musicians. There was plenty of nightlife in this part of town.

There was also lots of shopping. Vintage clothing stores sat next to art galleries, and upscale boutiques competed with cozy bookstores selling books about the history of the city, the tale of immigrants, the rush for gold, the first stories of the Barbary Coast. Adrianna loved feeling like she was connected to a rich and vibrant past. She didn't have family connections, but she was part of a city neighborhood that was very special.

The warm summer weather, the strolling tourists, the kids eating ice cream by the park, the clang of a nearby cable car reminded her of a life she'd been missing. She just needed to find a way to stop being afraid. Fear was something she'd grown up with, and she'd thought she'd put that feeling of uncertainty behind her, but one random act of violence had reminded her that she could never truly be safe or in control of her destiny. Life was about chance.

The irony was that the worst night of her life was being followed by the invitation to accept her dream job. Stephan wanted her to be the executive chef of Vincenzo's. She'd spent the last ten years working toward this exact goal. How could she say no? On the other hand, how could she go back into the restaurant, look at the floor, and not see Will's blood? How could she enter the kitchen and not hear Will tell her that he wanted to talk to her about something important? How could she go into the break room and not see his jacket or the blue velvet ring box?

She didn't know what had happened to the ring. Will's parents had driven down from Marin and taken charge of clearing out his personal belongings from both the restaurant and his apartment. They'd never mentioned the ring to her, but then they didn't seem to know anything about her relationship with Will. She'd tried to express her sorrow to Will's mother, but the woman had been cold and distant, and uninterested in her condolences.

When she'd had asked about the funeral, his mother had told her there wouldn't be one, that Will would be cremated and his ashes would be spread at sea. She'd known Will had not been close with his parents, but she'd never realized the extent of their estrangement. Not that it mattered anymore.

Squaring her shoulders, she forced herself to keep walking. She wasn't sure she could make it all the way inside the restaurant, but she was hoping to make it to the front door.

It was a beautiful Thursday afternoon, no fog on the horizon, just a few wispy clouds to mar the light blue sky. As she headed down the hill, she could see the Golden Gate Bridge and the colorful sails on the boats dotting the bay. Turning the corner, she walked toward a beautiful cobblestone square where four streets met.

Vincenzo's was on the far corner, across from St. Margaret's Church and the Fountain of Wishes, a popular North Beach destination. The fountain was owned by the church and had been built more than a hundred years earlier. It had survived the earthquake of 1906, and had been part of neighborhood lore for as long as anyone could remember. Throwing a coin in the water was supposed to bring luck and good fortune.

Over the years, numerous people had come forward sharing miracle stories of wishes that had been granted. She'd never been a big believer in wishes – maybe because none of her wishes had ever come true. Her prayers had also gone unanswered. She'd learned early on in life that she was on her own, that the only one she could depend on was herself.

For the most part, she'd been strong. But today, she felt weak, uncertain … and she had to find a way to shake it off. Cooking was her livelihood. It was all she knew how to do. Her savings was running down fast. She needed to get over her fear of going back into a kitchen.

On impulse, she walked across the square, pausing by the fountain. She could really use some help from the universe right about now. She opened her purse and pulled a quarter out of her wallet. The practical side of herself told her that quarter could buy her seven minutes on a parking meter, which might be a better investment then throwing twenty-five cents away on a foolish wish. 

While she was considering her options, her gaze caught on two girls on the other side of the fountain. Her pulse began to race. They looked like two of the kids she'd met up with in the alley behind the restaurant the night Will had been shot. Since then she had wondered many times if things would have been different if she hadn't taken the pizza out to the kids, if she hadn't stopped to question them, if she hadn't been avoiding what she thought might be a proposal. Would she have been able to save Will, or would she be dead, too?

The girls looked just as ragged as she remembered. She wondered what had happened to the boy who had been with them – Ben.  And had they gone hungry without her leftover offerings?

She felt a wave of guilt that she hadn't thought more about their welfare.

She walked around the fountain. The youngest girl looked up, and her blue eyes widened in recognition. She said something to the other girl, who quickly glanced her way. Then they both turned and ran.

“Wait,” she called, breaking into a jog as they sprinted across the square and darted through an alley.

It suddenly seemed imperative that she catch up to them. She needed to fix something, to save someone, because she hadn't been able to save Ben. Maybe she could help these children … Five minutes later, she realized the girls were gone. They'd vanished down one of the many narrow alleys that ran through this part of town. Turning, she walked slowly back to the square.

The sunlight was streaming through the spray of water coming off the fountain, beckoning her forward. She still had the quarter clenched in her hand. She just needed a wish – the right wish – one that would really make a difference.

She was stalling again, anything to postpone going into Vincenzo's, but at least she was getting closer…

* * *

Another August, and he was no closer to finding his daughter. Wyatt Randall stared at the calendar on his computer. Two years had passed since he'd seen Stephanie, and he still had no idea where she was. Familiar frustration sent a wave of anger through his body. He was an inspector with the San Francisco Police Department. He located missing persons and solved crimes for a living. He was damn good at his job. He'd closed more cases than anyone else. But he couldn't close the one case that meant the most to him. And he was starting to think he might never find his daughter again.

He didn't want to give up, but time kept marching on. He picked up the photograph that he kept on his desk. Stephanie's blue eyes stared back at him. The picture had been taken on her sixth birthday. They'd gone to the beach, barbecued hot dogs and roasted marshmallows. For that day they'd been happy. It made him feel marginally better now to see the smile on her lips as she waved her marshmallow at the camera, the color in her sunburned cheeks, the traces of sand in her hair left over from when they'd made sand angels. What a great afternoon that had been. He'd never imagined it might be the last they would have together.

Stephanie had his eyes, the same direct, intense expression. Looking at her was like looking in a mirror, but she didn't have his dark hair, she was blonde like her mother.  

Her mother …

Fury ripped through him as he thought of his ex-wife. It was Jennifer who had stolen Stephanie from him, who had violated the custody agreement, who had turned his life into a living hell. Crazy, messed up Jennifer, who had somehow believed their daughter was better off with her. The only thing that had kept him from losing his mind completely was the knowledge that Jennifer loved Stephanie. He had to hope that she was being a good mother, that she'd found a way to shake the drugs and the bad friends, but he couldn't count on that being true. And he would never be able to relax until he had Stephanie back in his arms.

Most of his friends and family had given up. They tried to pretend otherwise, but he knew the truth. It had been two very long years of false leads, dead ends and crushing disappointment. Stephanie's disappearance had once triggered Amber alerts, search parties and news media coverage. For months they'd set a place for her at family dinners. His mother had bought presents for every occasion, stashing them in a closet for some day. But some day seemed to be getting further and further away. He set the photo down on his desk, silently promising his daughter that he would never give up, no matter how long it took.

Even as he made the promise, his gaze tripped over the stack of file folders on his desk. There were other missing kids, other victims, other people who needed his attention. As much as he wanted to devote himself full time to the search for his daughter, he also had to make a living. He'd spent the first year of Stephanie's disappearance crisscrossing the country, following endless clues that had ultimately gone nowhere. Eventually, he'd had to go back to work, if for no other purpose then to make enough money to keep a private investigator working on the case. Unfortunately, that investigator had also come up with nothing and had moved on to other clients. Two years of work and he was back at square one, as lost as he'd been that very first afternoon.

“Wyatt, I have something you should see,” Josh Burton said, waving him over.

He got up from his desk to see what his friend and former partner had to say. He'd met Josh in the police academy eleven years earlier, and they'd worked their way up the ranks together. They'd once been partners, but during his six-month leave, Josh had partnered with someone else. Once Wyatt had come back, he'd been assigned a new partner. He was always happy to collaborate though. He'd done some of his best work with Josh.

“I was reviewing the security footage we picked up from cameras in the area around Vincenzo's restaurant,” Josh said.

He nodded. They'd all spent some time working on the robbery/homicide at the popular North Beach restaurant. “What did you find?”

“Take a look.” Josh hit a button on his computer and the grainy video of the outside of a liquor store appeared. Three kids walked out of the store, pausing on the sidewalk to open a box of candy. There was a boy and two girls, all of whom appeared to be under the age of twelve. A moment later, the smallest girl turned her face toward the camera. In a split second, a pair of familiar blue eyes met his. His breath caught in his throat, and his heart began to race. Then she looked away, and the kids ran out of range of the camera.

“Play it again,” he ordered, adrenaline racing through his veins.

Josh did as requested, pausing on the frame of the little girl. “She looks a little like Stephanie, don't you think?”

A knot was growing in his throat as he stared at the computer screen. “More than a little.”

“She's older, and her hair is darker.”

“It's been two years since we saw her, and who knows what Jen did to her hair.”

“But why would Jennifer bring Stephanie back to San Francisco? She has to know you're still looking for her. And you have a lot of support and resources here. It's not logical.”

“Jen was never known for her logic.”

“It's more likely she'd be in Los Angeles where she grew up, where her parents still live. Someone has to be funneling her money, and they're the most likely suspects.”

Jen's parents had definitely been on their daughter's side, but then they'd spoiled Jen rotten. She was their only child and they believed she was perfect in every way. The problems in their daughter's marriage had all been his fault.

“Tom has been following Jen's parents for months,” he said, referring to the private investigator. “He's never been able to connect them to Jennifer. He's never been able to find a money trail. I don't know who's helping her live, but it doesn't appear to be Greg and Wendy Miller.”

“Well, I still think it's doubtful Jen is here in the city. To be honest, I debated whether I should even show you this video. There have been so many false sightings. We've seen Stephanie in a lot of little girls who turned out not to be her. I hate to see you chase another bad lead.”

Everything Josh said was true. It didn’t make sense that Jennifer and Stephanie would be in the city, and the girl whose image had been captured by the security camera wasn't an exact match to his daughter, but there was something about her eyes that made his gut clench. He had to follow up, even if this lead turned out to be as bad as the others.

“Don't ever debate showing me something that might be important,” he said sharply. “You don't need to worry about me. Stephanie is the only one who matters. Can you print out a screen shot for me? I'll take the picture by the liquor store and see if the clerk knows anything about these kids.”

“Already done,” Josh said, handing him a photo. “I'd go with you, but I have a witness to question.”

“It's fine,” he muttered. “I don't have anything pressing at the moment.”

Josh sent him a warning glance. “Don't let the captain hear you say that. You're already on his last nerve.”

He was well aware of that fact. In the beginning, the captain had been generous about giving him time off and looking the other way when he used department resources to look for Stephanie, but their caseload had increased in recent months, and the captain had warned him that if he continued to take time off, he might need to resign. It seemed unthinkable that he could lose his daughter and his job, but right now Stephanie was his main concern.

“Fortunately, we just wrapped the Delgado case,” he said. “And I have a lot of overtime on the books.”

“Are you going to Summer's engagement party tomorrow night?” Josh asked, leaning back in his chair. “I wish I could go, but I have to work.”

“We'll see,” he said vaguely. “There's going to be a big crowd. My sister won't miss me.”

“She will definitely miss you, along with the rest of the family. Taking an hour out for yourself and your family doesn’t make you any less of a dedicated father,” Josh said pointedly.

He'd heard the same argument from his mother, his father, his brother and his sister. Two years was a long time to run head-down at a dead sprint toward a finish line that kept moving farther away. But he didn't know how else to live. Every time he found himself thinking about something else or he caught himself smiling or laughing, he felt guilty. He couldn't have a life without his child.

“Just think about it,” Josh said. 

“I will. I want Summer to be happy, and Ron seems like a good guy, but who knows? I certainly never imagined Jennifer would turn into a monster.”

“Neither did I,” Josh said, regret in his eyes. “She was so sweet at your wedding. She looked up at you with adoration, like you were the only man in the world. I wanted what you had.”

“Well, thank God you didn't get it,” he replied. “Getting married was the biggest mistake of my life, and no doubt Jen feels the same way. Once the dream wedding was over, our lives turned into a nightmare.”

“Her expectations were too high,” Josh said. “After a moonlit wedding with a horse and carriage and a thousand perfect roses, reality was bound to suck a little.”

“No kidding. That's why I told my sister when she announced her engagement that she should elope or go down to City Hall and skip the big wedding. It's not supposed to be about a day; it's supposed to be about a lifetime. But Summer wants the dream, too. You'd think she'd learn from my example.” He paused. “I'll check in with you later – hopefully with some good news.”