St. Sophia’s School For Young Ladies was the finest girls’ school in Paradise, perhaps in the entire country. Acceptance there was as good as a golden ticket to White Eagle Academy later on; ninety-seven percent of its graduates went on to finish at the Academy. That was one of the many reasons why Ian had fought so hard to get Natalia in. He sat rigid before the enrollment board while three-year-old Natalia sat on the carpet a few feet away, quietly turning her worn teddy bear over in her hands. Angelove’s absence still burned under his skin. She should’ve been there. Instead Ian was alone, already sensing the answer he didn’t want to hear. The head of the board adjusted her glasses. “Mr. Garrett, St. Sophia’s maintains very selective acceptance standards. For…certain members of the community, we are occasionally able to make limited exceptions when a child falls only slightly short of our criteria. Unfortunately, Natalia is well outside that margin. At three she’s not yet speaking, so she's unable to sit for our written assessment or be evaluated on manners and disposition. She’s also not fully potty-trained. I say this with genuine concern for her: you may wish to have her assessed for developmental delays.” “She’s not slow,” Ian said at once, the words sharper than he intended. “Give her a chance. She’ll catch up. Tally may not be talking yet, but she’s bright. I know she is.” A second board member spoke, quieter but final. “Even if we set the speech delay aside, we simply cannot accommodate a child who is not fully toilet-trained. At this time we must decline her application.”

Ian swallowed the heat rising in his throat, gave a curt nod, and gathered Natalia into his arms.

Outside, he set her carefully on her feet and dropped to one knee in front of her. “I know you’re not slow, baby. Won’t you say something for Daddy? Just Da-Dad...or Mama?” Natalia’s eyes filled. She reached up, small hands opening and closing. Ian refused to pick her up.

“You want up? Say ‘up,’ Tally. Please. I know you can do it. Just say ‘up’.” The tears came then, quiet at first, then harder. Ian’s frustration collapsed the moment he saw them. He lifted her immediately and held her against his chest, one large hand cradling the back of her head.

“All right,” he murmured, voice rough. “It’s okay, baby. You’ll talk when you’re ready.”