The McRae Series 01 - Twelve Days Sam and Rachel

children had to go back to their biological father?
    "Emma," she began. "I... I—"
    And then Sam appeared in front of her, taking Emma by the arms and gently turning her to face him. "Emma?"
    "Yes," she whispered.
    "Don't tell us who your father is," he said.
    "What?" she and Rachel said at the same time.
    "If no one knows who your father is or where he is, no one can take you back to him. Don't tell us, Emma."
    Rachel gaped at him, hardly able to believe what he was saying. Sam, who'd been so diligently trying to get the kids to talk. Now he was telling Emma not to.
    "Do you understand what I'm saying, Emma?" he asked.
    Emma nodded.
    "You don't have to tell anyone anything. I know I tried to get you to, but I didn't know why you couldn't, and now that you've told us, I understand. It's okay. Just don't tell. Don't tell me or Rachel. Don't tell anyone else."
    "Okay."
    Emma gazed up at Sam with what could only be awe, Sam who looked fierce enough to break someone in two at the moment. But obviously, Emma didn't see that in him. Or maybe she did. Maybe she saw it for what it was. He was furious on her behalf and on behalf of Zach and Grace, and he was ready to take their so-called father apart with his bare hands. Sam could be so hard when he was pushed too far. Rachel had seen it in him as a teenager, when life had been so cruel to him. And she'd seen steel in him over the years. When she'd leaned on him in bad times, and he'd held himself together and her, too.
    He was the kind of man a woman could depend upon when times got tough, a solid, unshakably strong, brave man, and at one time, he'd loved her very much. He'd loved their baby, too, and it seemed he loved Emma, Zach, and Grace, maybe just as much. And this was just what the man she'd always loved would do. He'd keep these children safe.
    Rachel was scared now that they knew the kind of battle they were facing, but they had Sam. He'd decided for all of them. They simply wouldn't tell. If Miriam asked if the children had told them anything, Rachel wasn't sure what she would say. But she wasn't going to worry about that now.
    She went to Emma and put one of her arms around the girl, the other around Sam. They were in this together now.
    * * *
    Sam stayed there until Emma lifted her head and dried her wet eyes. She looked embarrassed when it was all over and a bit self-conscious, and Sam found himself rashly promising her that everything would be okay.
    Then he asked her to take Grace downstairs and wait with Zach so Sam could talk to Rachel. Rachel, who'd opened the cedar chest and gotten out the christening gown and the rattle that was supposed to belong to their baby. The one she'd felt guilty for years for losing.
    Life was so strange, he realized. All those things they'd never said that had eaten away at the foundation of their marriage all these years. Things that had festered and grown and ached and threatened to rot it at its core. He hadn't quite been able to take it all in the night before. It had literally made him dizzy, just thinking of how she must have felt, how much it had to hurt, all this time. He knew, because he'd felt the exact same way, and there had been days when he'd thought it might well kill him, days when he wished it would. Guilt was a powerful thing, an irrational, powerful thing.
    "I always thought it was my fault," he said.
    "What?" She looked up from her spot on the floor, where she'd sat down to play with Grace for a moment.
    "Our baby. I thought it was my fault we lost her."
    Rachel looked genuinely puzzled. "Why?"
    "Because I was driving. Because the car needed brakes and the tires were bald. Because it crumpled like the tin can it was when we hit the car, and I should have been able to afford a safe car to put you and the baby in."
    "Sam—"
    "Your father said as much to me that day at the hospital, and I thought he was right. I thought the same thing myself."
    "Oh, Sam. He was angry. He was hurt. It was a terrible day."
    "I know."
    "You can't still think it's your fault," she began.
    "You do," he said. "You blame yourself because you wanted to get pregnant and you made love to me that night knowing it was possible. And that's not why we lost our baby, Rachel."
    "I did." And then she began to understand. Her eyes filled with tears. "You felt that way, too? All these years? That it was your fault?"
    He nodded. "And afterward, when I was trying my best to help you, and you pushed me away—"
    "Because I felt so guilty," she