Free All Who Are Lost (Ashmore's Folly Book 1) by Lindsey Forrest

After cleanup, Meg vanished into her room to work out at her barre, and Laura curled up by her bedroom window, sipping hot chocolate and staring out at the snow-topped roofs of her neighbors.
    She had not spent such a solitary Christmas in her entire life.
    The Christmases of her childhood – she leaned back and closed her eyes. The sisters in their winter finery, much of it hand-me-down because money was always tight. When one outgrew the teal winter coat with the fake fur collar, the next in line inherited it. Midnight Mass, their voices singing out in the choir, Diana’s dramatic coloratura, Francie’s pretty lyric tones, her own coloratura mezzo. All of them with carefully trained vibrato. Lucy, under the protection of the Ashmores, lucky enough to escape the command performance. Dominic, in his severe black suit, reminiscent of the monk he had once been, critiquing their performances.
    Christmas dinner at Ashmore Park, all of them on their best behavior. Awed not only by the magnificence of the house, its shining elegance in sharp contrast to the genteel poverty of their own, but also by the son of the house, with his confident manner, secure in his place in the universe. Warmed by the welcoming smiles of Philip and Peggy Ashmore. Envious of Lucy, who enjoyed this every day.
    That last Christmas at home, when she was seventeen – Richard and Diana with Julie, their eyes sliding past each other, the emotional distance yawning between them. Francie watching, waiting, planning. Richard coming to Laura after dinner as she watched the lights on the tree from the loveseat, pulling over the ottoman to sit opposite her, the light from the fireplace casting a glow across his dark hair. He had been wearing a beautiful blue ski sweater that his mother had given him.
    Laurie, I need to ask a really big favor.
    Sure, Richard. What do you need?
    Across the years, Laura remembered him taking her hands in his.
    I’m finishing up my thesis. Can I hire you to type it for me this week? I really need an expert – it’s full of footnotes and equations. You’re the best typist around.
    The thrill that he was entrusting her with something so important to his future. Through the vicious headache from the cold she’d had all week, her eager agreement. Of course! You don’t have to pay me, Richard. I’ll be glad to do it.
    Great! Why don’t you come back with us tonight? And of course I’ll pay you. I know how you like to save up. No knowledge of what she was saving up for. You’re not my slave.
    But, in her heart of hearts, she was. She would do whatever Richard Ashmore wanted her to do.
    Fast forward thirteen years to last Christmas, she and Cam circling each other gingerly, wondering if the pregnancy that had resulted from a post-separation night of passion could herald another chance for them. This pregnancy had seemed different from the others. The first trimester had passed uneventfully; she felt pregnant, she was even beginning to show. So far, everything looked good. They had agreed to tell Meg that evening. Then, as she prepared Christmas dinner, the excruciating cramps, the blood, the heartsick feeling of loss, because this time she had dared to hope….
    Her doctor telling Cam forcefully, For God’s sake, man, get yourself fixed! You can’t put her through this again. His desolate eyes, as they looked at each other wearily and knew that their dying marriage had run out of hope….
    Laura buried her face in her hands.
    Two Christmases. Each, in its own way, the end of the line.
    Pain began to flicker behind her eyes.
    She rose from the window seat and went to the dresser where she had put Richard’s fax. It was folded tightly, hidden beneath her hosiery where no one would ever look. She spread it out beside her on the window seat and read it again and again.
    Looking for – what? What was she going to find there that she hadn’t seen before?
    For the first time, in her mind’s eye, she imagined Richard writing the