In an earlier draft of the novel, I had written a prologue (the little section before the first chapter). It was sad to take it out, but I knew it didn’t belong in the final story.

However, if you’d like to take a peek at it, I’ve included it below:

Wednesday, December 4, 1996 turned chilly and overcast. The first snow fell. The front page of the Ottawa Citizen reported the apparent discovery of water on the moon, and the Montreal Gazette described how an armed burglar eluded police and fled the scene of his crime via bicycle. After midnight, Jeff tore around the hospital trying to find a copy of a newspaper from the day before for my scrapbook. I wanted to memorialize the day–the day our son was born. Caleb Michael Bennett. Five pounds, six ounces, nineteen inches long, and born one minute before midnight, the day’s last citizen. Four weeks shy of full term, he’d given me a scare. But here he was. I held him close, afraid he was still a dream.

“Il est beau,” murmured the stout nurse over my shoulder. “Ah, comme le temps passe vite. How the time goes fast. Hold him tight, ma chère.” She sighed, patted me on the arm, and waddled away.

I gazed into the bright eyes, brushed my finger against the velvet skin of my baby’s cheek. I will hold you close. I always will.

I meant it–as much as any promise spoken aloud. I just had no idea how hard that vow would be to keep.

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