Sighing, she did her best to compose herself.

She fully realized that most people thought she just glided along in life as the privileged daughter of an equally privileged family. But her real friends knew that Chelsea had always been something of a scrapper and quite willing to go her own way, if need be, to follow her heart. Yes, she could have taken the easy road and gone to work for her father. She smiled a little as she recalled Adam’s comic but heartfelt offer of employment. Many would have gladly taken that path, she knew. But she hadn’t wanted a soft, unchallenging life of nepotism. In her heart of hearts, she had long felt the need to prove herself all on her own.

Despite its civilized nature, Lucy and Adam’s divorce had shattered Chelsea’s world.

When Adam left the house for good, Chelsea had been shocked and she cried for days.

In some ways, the divorce had been more difficult for her than for anyone else. But by now Adam and Lucy’s parting had matured, its raw nature replaced with a more socially presentable patina. So much so that whenever the three of them were together, it almost seemed like they were a true family again.

To her credit, Chelsea had never placed blame or taken sides. Not only because she loved them both, but also because of the quiet and largely civilized way in which Adam and Lucy had finally separated. During that difficult time, it had been Gram who encouraged Chelsea to pursue her MFA. It had been painting, plus her great love of children, that had led Chelsea to become an art teacher.

Chelsea had loved those halcyon days when Gram had so patiently taught her. Eventually Chelsea’s painting style would find its own path, differing rather sharply from Gram’s. Some would later say that Chelsea’s works even outshined Brooke’s, but Chelsea never agreed. To her, Brooke’s paintings were among the best she had ever seen. Chelsea still loved to paint, but these days she had time for it only during her summer breaks. While continuing to gaze out the rain-streaked window, she took another sip of wine.

In addition, Brooke had always hoped that Chelsea could find someone worthwhile to love, someone who could make her feel whole and cherished. But sadly, Brooke died knowing that there was no one special in Chelsea’s life. With that memory on her mind, Chelsea’s thoughts inexorably turned toward her unsuccessful love life.

She had experienced her fair share of romantic liaisons. But so far, no man had held much real interest for her, causing the few relationships into which she had entered to be short-lived. Truth be known, she wished that she could meet a genuine man’s man. She certainly didn’t desire some overly macho brute. But she did want someone who was confident in his masculinity, someone who would ultimately care more about her than he did his golf game or the cut of his suit. And with each passing day, she increasingly doubted whether such men still existed. She had been disappointed again and again over the years, and some of her girlfriends said that she was being too picky.

So far, no man had broken her heart to the point of desperation, but none had rescued her from her loneliness, either. Although she was only thirty-three, she increasingly felt as if the prospect of finding someone who would both love and understand her was dwindling with each passing day. Even so, she refused to “settle,” as some of her female friends had done. True enough, they had gotten married. But Chelsea could oftentimes detect a sense of sadness in their eyes that had much to do with what their futures might have been had they held out for true love. Knowing that each woman’s heart was similar yet also different, Chelsea had never been judgmental about the life decisions that her female friends had made.