My father dragged me out of my own house by my hair while I was eight months pregnant, and his twenty-four-year-old wife laughed when my water broke on the porch. “Call whoever you want,” he sneered, convinced my dead husband’s home, money, and company were about to become his. He had no idea that one phone call was about to expose everything.

I plugged the silver USB drive into my laptop sitting on the small desk near the window.

The screen flickered for a brief second before a video window opened.

And there he was.

Lucas was sitting in Samantha’s bright office, wearing his favorite navy flannel shirt, his hair slightly messy, a soft, familiar grin crooked across his face. Seeing him alive, so vivid and real on the screen, made a tear spill over my lashes and drop onto my keyboard.

"Hey, Tori," Lucas’s voice came through the laptop speakers, warm, deep, and rich with that gentle humor I had missed every single second since he left.

He adjusted the camera slightly, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees.

"If you’re watching this video, it means something went terribly wrong," Lucas said, his smile fading into a serious, loving intensity. "And it means I’m not there to hold your hand or help you carry the heavy stuff anymore. For that, I am so, so sorry."

He took a deep breath, looking directly into the camera lens as if he were staring straight into my eyes.

"Tori, I knew your father was dangerous long before we got married," Lucas continued softly. "I saw the way he looked at our company, the way he treated people like tools to be used and discarded. I knew that if he ever thought he could push you out, he would try. That’s why I built the trust. That’s why I documented every meeting, every contract, and every dollar."

He smiled faintly, reaching out a hand as if trying to touch the screen.

"I didn't do it just to protect the money, Tori. I did it because you are the strongest, kindest, most incredible woman I have ever known. You carry more grace in your pinky finger than Charles Baldwin has in his entire body. I knew that if the storm ever came, you would stand up, protect our child, and rebuild everything better than it was before."

He paused, his voice softening into a whisper that made my chest ache with profound love.

"Tell our baby about me," Lucas murmured. "Tell him how much I loved his mother. Tell him that every step I took, every late night I worked, was all for the two of you. I love you, Victoria. Always."

The screen went black.

I sat in the quiet nursery for a long time, the tears flowing freely now—not tears of desperate grief, but tears of deep, healing peace.

I looked over at the crib. Leo had rolled onto his side, his thumb tucked into his tiny mouth, sleeping peacefully under the soft morning light.