One day, Mandy dared to knock on his door. Michael poked his head out, about to shut it, when he saw no one.

"Wait!" she yelled. "I'm down here."

A look of surprise crossed his face. "What do you want?"

Encouraged that he hadn't slammed the door, she asked what she'd been trying to do for days. Nobody else had been interested, or had been "too busy." "Will you play Candy Land with me?"

Michael looked at her as if she were crazy. "Isn't there anyone else? Why me?"

"Everybody else said no," Mandy said matter-of-factly. "Please?"

He hesitated for about thirty seconds before agreeing. Smiling at her success, she ran downstairs to the closet for the game. They ended up playing three games: she won the first, he won the second, and the third determined the ultimate victor.

It was obvious he hadn't wanted to; he was probably as busy as everyone else—she'd overheard the older girls talking about their homework. But he made time to play a children's game anyway.

Afterward, Mandy was convinced Michael was the only nice person in the house. She tried to stay near him to avoid the younger children's anger and the older ones' neglect.

When their foster mother picked them up from school in her fifteen-passenger van, Mandy told Michael about her day. At dinner, she always sat beside him. When he went to his room, she sometimes knocked and asked to hide from the other children. He let her, as long as she was quiet.

While Michael did his homework or worked on his computer, Mandy sat on the floor, drawing or reading picture books. Being near him was the safest she'd felt since her mother died.

Quickly, she began thinking of him as a friend—her only friend. The children at school who occasionally included her didn't count. In her heart, she started calling him Mikey.

Friends gave nicknames, didn't they? Her mother called her Mandy, but everyone else called her Amanda. She didn't think her real name was as cute.

She didn't dare call him Mikey until the day he snapped when she bombarded him with questions about his homework.

"Honestly, Amanda! It's just homework! Why are you always in my room?" Michael demanded.

Startled, she blurted out, "Mikey, you're the nicest person here."

Of course she wanted to be around the nicest person—away from the busy adults and indifferent or mean children. He didn't give her much attention, but when he did, it was positive, and she cherished it.

He blinked, shocked. "Why did you call me that?"

Mandy looked down, embarrassed. "Because we're friends. Friends give nicknames."

Michael laughed—she'd never heard him laugh before. It was pleasant, and his smile made his handsome face seem warmer. She didn't think her comment was funny, but she couldn't be mad because of that laugh.

"Friends give nicknames, huh? Alright then. Mandy," he said casually.

She beamed. Nobody had called her that in a long time.

He ended up explaining his homework and even gave her a pink Starburst. Afterward, Mandy spent all her time at home in Mikey's room, listening to him talk. He was interesting and had much to say.

Over the next year, they reached an understanding. If she didn't interrupt his homework or computer work, he would play games or read to her. When she was sad or tired, she'd curl up in his lap and fall asleep while he typed.

She loved him deeply and was devastated when he left. His kindness couldn't have been a lie! He cared about her; she was convinced. She thought giving him the cold shoulder would make him realize his mistake, apologize, and take her with him. But he didn't.

Years later, she gave up hope of his return, though she still thought of him occasionally. After years of silence, she never imagined finding him again, let alone marrying him. Yet, here they were.

"I was six," Mandy told her daughter, laughing. "Can you believe it? We were in the same foster home for about a year and became very close. He was the only person who cared about me since my mother's death. Everyone else thought I was too much to handle."

Britt raised an eyebrow. "What happened then?"

"He went to college and left me behind. He and his brother came into my restaurant recently, and I recognized his name when he paid the bill. I left my number on the receipt, and the rest is history."

Her daughter considered this. Getting engaged to someone you knew and lost contact with was less crazy than marrying a stranger.

"Does he know about Lucas?" (Britt was referring to Lucas's bad behavior and Mandy's imprisonment.)

Mandy nodded. "Yes. And he's nothing like Lucas. Mikey understands our similar experiences, and he's kind. He goes along with what I want, even if it's silly. He loves me, Britt. Nobody else has ever treated me this well."

She sighed. "Fine! I won't protest. But please wait at least six months to get married. If he hasn't shown any red flags by then, I won't complain."

Six months was generous. Considering her daughter's initial reaction, Mandy had worried she'd want them to wait years. She wasn't getting any younger.

And she sensed Mikey wanted children. He'd never said anything, but his longing tone when discussing his brother's family suggested he was thinking about it.

Mandy wasn't too old for IVF. Many people had children in their forties or fifties. Medical technology had advanced significantly.

"Deal," she said. "Now, should we go back to the men? They're probably wondering what's taking so long."

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