Thank you to Ipsita and Nic for pre-reading, and to Alice's White Rabbit for stepping in to beta this futuretake. So grateful to you lovelies.

Summary: My daughter turns three in June, and I've never regretted a minute of being her stay-at-home dad. With another baby on the way, and me burning the midnight oil writing music again, my wife wants our little girl to start preschool. I'm not going to win this fight, but I honestly don't know how I will handle leaving Georgia in someone else's care.

Chapter 11 - Leaving Georgia

The mattress dips behind me and warm breasts snuggle into my back. Soft lips brush the sweet spot on my neck. The air fills with the heady scent of her hair as she moves to my ear.

"I love that you read to her."

Opening my eyes, I'm suddenly aware my wife has come home and found me asleep. Again.

Bella lifts the book from the floor and sighs, setting it down on the nightstand. Her warmth spreads across me once more as she reaches over, tenderly smoothing the golden hair of the angel beside me.

Georgia can't read yet, but she memorizes, catching me every time I stray from the written text. And I do stray, losing the battle with consciousness too often lately. I'm tired, but there's no way I'll admit that to Bella.

Rolling to face my wife, I start to explain. "I'm sorry, baby. We were at the zoo when it opened, and—"

She silences me with another kiss and cups my cheek. We smile at each other, and she plants a final one on my nose before getting up.

"I'll take her to bed."

Bella picks up our sleeping child gently, cradling her head as she's done since she was born. Georgia is out cold, and I resist the urge to reach out and squeeze her little feet in her onesie, hanging down much further than they should. My heart hurts when I see the size of my daughter now. She is growing too fast.

Georgia stood up to me again today. My little girl denounced the outfit I proposed for our trip to the zoo in place of a preferred alternative.

"No, Daddy," she asserted, shaking her head at the dress I was holding, still on its hangar. Placing the pink tights from the bed back in the drawer, she selected skinny jeans and boots, a cream floral flannel, and grey jacket.

"Very well," I gave in begrudgingly, avoiding a worthless confrontation. Georgia's choice of clothing was probably more suited to the day's adventure if I cared to admit it, but I'm not about to give up my position as the adult, firmly in charge. Bella has encouraged me to be flexible, and not to bring anger into this new dynamic.

Of course, it wasn't the first time my daughter challenged me.

Georgia was fifteen-months old when I overheard a group of mothers in the park, experiencing the same problems I was having in getting her to eat. Some were even preparing separate meals for each of their offspring, more concerned with calories than nutrition. Hearing them complain they were utterly helpless made me determined my child would eat what we gave her.

Bella warned me not to make this into a big deal, and to her credit, she allowed me to handle the problem, but breaking Georgia's will was possibly the hardest thing I've ever done. It took four excruciating weeks of denying her ice cream, her favorite food in the whole world, for her to finally back down and try everything on her plate. She had to learn that it was her choice to miss out and go to bed hungry.

My daughter is stubborn, like me, I suppose, but I would never try to take all the credit for our success. Bella found our Mary Poppins after interviewing a ton of applicants, and Irina is a godsend. She urged me to persevere, saying there was no time for picky eaters when she was bringing up four children in the midst of war. Irina might be the survivor of a conflict that killed much of her family and split her country apart, but today she is grateful to be an American citizen, happily speaking English, Croatian, and Italian to Georgia, our little sponge who never reaches saturation.

Bella returns to our bed, and I fold her up in my arms, my day's responsibility over. The warmth and softness of her body are my ultimate comfort, her curves an oasis of pleasure. She is both a visionary and the font of common sense.

I close my eyes and enjoy her, burying my nose in her scent. Then I hear her voice from the end of a tunnel, calling my name.

"Edward, you're exhausted."

There's no point in denying when I'm struggling from lack of sleep, but every night lately I wake up with melodies in my head, compelled to get up and write them down lest I forget when real life begins in the morning. I've been blessed with these precious years with my daughter, but nothing has prepared me for the explosion of music and lyrics currently pouring out of me. I've shed tears writing this new material, and it seems like every other day there is something new inspiring me.

Just when I should be getting my head around the arrival of another baby, I want to record a new album.

"It was just a big day, today. That's all."

She huffs and extricates herself from my embrace. "I need to get something to eat."

Of course she does. She's hungry while I ate hours ago when Georgia had her evening meal. We sat on stools together, watching Irina finely grate vegetables into a rather gooey mixture of ground pork for her meatballs. It may have been her complimenting Georgia's fine attempt at forming equal sized balls, or just the fact that Irina is an amazing cook, but tonight was a huge success. I'm not surprised my daughter fell asleep so soundly after an active day, a full tummy, a soak in the bath, and me reading to her.

I gaze at my wife stripping out of her skirt and blouse. This girl… She has no idea how such a mundane action can still excite me.

"You're gonna love Irina's meatballs and pasta."

"Did Georgia eat them?" she asks hopefully, and I snort.

"You're lucky there's anything left."

Bella unhooks her bra and sighs, like the flimsy of underwear is some kind of restraint. Every time I see her tits in this seductive piece of apparel, I have to hold back from wanting to touch it and them. She throws on her blue satin robe, the one I gave her when she announced she was pregnant again, now her outfit of choice whenever she's home.

"We need to make some adjustments, Edward."

Remaining silent, I inwardly recoil from the same words my wife used when it was time for Georgia to stay in her own bed instead of crawling in between us during the night. I hope this is merely a suggestion for a change in our daily schedule.

She waves a finger at me. "And you promised to be honest with me."

I've learned to hold my tongue when she's pregnant because I'm lousy at interpreting her meaning. All I know is she's angry, because we vowed honesty when we committed to each other. She specifically wanted it written into the words we said in front of the priest when we married.

"I know the behavior, Edward—you getting up in the middle of the night and returning before dawn."

Oh. My nocturnal habits have not gone unnoticed after all. When I don't respond, she walks out of the bedroom. Suddenly chilled, I pull on a sweater and follow her into the kitchen where she's putting a plate in the microwave. Turning to me, she shakes her head and folds her arms across her chest.

"Georgia won't be happy when she grows up, you know, finding out she was the reason you gave up on your passion."

How can she say such a thing? "My family is my passion. You must know that your love and the daughter we made are the most important things in my life."

"As they are mine, Edward, but I want her to look up to the man I fell in love with. There has to be space in our lives for us to be individuals, and we have Irina now. I think it's time for Georgia to start preschool."

My eyes bulge as I stare at her, searching for a sign she's just floating an idea I can argue against, but all I see is the resolve of a woman who knows a great deal about the subject.

"Preschool." Uttering the word makes my whole world shudder and shrink.

"This is why I was late coming home tonight. I visited one of the preschools on my short list and stayed to speak to some of the parents as they left."

"Where is this place?" My Adam's apple bobs in my throat at the notion of a short list. She's been planning this for some time.

"Calm down, Edward. This one is less than three miles away. They have fingerprint security and the student teacher ratio is better than anywhere else I've seen. I like this preschool."

"Why does she need preschool when she's not even three?"

Bella exhales with both hands splayed out on the counter. "For a start, she needs to socialize with children of her own age. In a preschool environment, she will learn to take care of her belongings, follow instructions, and abide by the rules."

"Georgia follows my rules," I maintain.

"That will soon change, if it hasn't already." She cocks a brow as if she doubts I'm reliable.

Damn, Irina may have told her about today's outfit rebellion. I need to pull out every argument I have.

"She'll catch diseases from other snotty-nosed kids."

"What diseases?" She glares at me, clearly horrified. I agree the word may be a little strong after our strict regime of immunization.

"Well… viruses then."

"Then one of us will stay home with her. It will be good for her immune system, Edward. Better now than when she starts elementary school."

"She will think we're abandoning her."

With a frown, Bella stares at me. "No, she will learn to trust that we'll always come back for her. Edward, you are an amazing father. You've given her a solid foundation of nurturing and love, but Georgia needs more than just you. We'll have another newborn in six months' time and she has to learn how to share. If you don't have any real objections, I would like her settled into preschool before we tell her she's going to have a brother or sister."

Sitting down next to me, she wraps an arm around my shoulders. With all her education in early childhood learning and law, she could argue this case all night if I wanted to push it and right now, my heart is sick, knowing deep down that I do want more from life than just being a father.

"Not yet," is all I can come up with, feeling more morose by the minute.

"We have to wait anyway. There are no free spaces at the moment."

"I want to see inside this place first."

She runs her fingers around my ear. "Of course you do, and I want to hear the music you've been working on. I just don't understand why you thought you had to keep it from me."

I flare up and stand. "Maybe it's the same reason you've been sneaking around behind my back looking at preschools."

Before I can storm off, she takes my hand in hers. "Edward, this is for you as much as for her, and I'm only talking about three days a week to start with. When you're rehearsing, she'll be in the way, wanting to be involved."

"I would never permit that, Bella. It would damage her young ears."

"Exactly," she says with a smile, raising her hands to scratch the hair at the back of my head. "I love you two so much, and I want what's best for both of you."

With an ache still residing deep in my chest, I give in reluctantly. "Okay."

She kisses my lips, pressing her body against me, and it doesn't take long for me to lose myself in the feel of her tongue. I'm about to lift her onto the counter when she pulls back and smirks. "Take me in the studio and show me what you got."

"My music?" I ask, teasing her.

She palms my erection. "I'm more interested in what you got in those sexy pajama pants."

"You're not hungry anymore?" I ask with my hands slipping around her waist.

"Only for you." She unties the robe and turns around, peeling it off and throwing it flamboyantly in the air on her way to the studio. It lands in my arms, and I bring it to my nose, knowing I'll smell just like this when we're finished with each other. Checking out the slip of red lace barely covering her ass, I'm compelled to follow.

Bella lives to argue and the win can put her in a playful mood. I've realized over the years that she is quite irresistible when she wants to celebrate a victory with sex.

"Why does it have to be them?" I thought I was ready to go along with this plan of gradual separation, but I'm still not happy the first night has to be with my parents. "My parents?"

"They're close, Edward."

"So we're preparing for a last minute rescue?"

She rolls her eyes at me. "She knows them and they love her. Would you have preferred she went to Garrett and Kate's?"

I snort at the suggestion. "Definitely not. Georgia is not picking up habits from those children. There has never been any discipline in that house."

Rubbing my upper arms, she looks at me compassionately. "They can't wait. Your father is taking her to play golf."

"Golf?" He never took me to play golf. "I don't want her out on some golf course without me. There could be photographers."

"They're playing at a friend's estate. It's a private course."

I can just imagine the acres of manicured gardens and old money. "She'll be bored out of her brain."

"He's bought her clubs, and one of his regular group is bringing his granddaughter, too."

"He's using wealth to impress her, Bella."

Cocking an eyebrow, she confronts me. "And our family car is a Porsche Panamera."

I don't need a comeback when my only real vice is German automotive technology. It's not like I borrow money to buy them, and she loves driving them as much as I do.

"It sounds like a great deal of planning has gone into this little jaunt. I thought you only just asked them."

"Last week, Edward. You'd know all about it if you would call them yourself." With a long exhale, I avoid the comment, hating that my father has all the time in the world for my wife and daughter, yet our relationship remains strained. "It's just for one or two nights."

"Two?" Now it's too much. She is skating on thin ice.

Running her hands up my chest, she counters. "Yes, two, if she'll settle. I want quality time with my husband—dinner and dancing before we come home and have long… slow… sex with no one around."

Well, my head does swim with possibilities. Since we hired Irina, we've gone out on dates, but we haven't been alone overnight in a very long time.

"I'll make us omelets for breakfast," she adds, biting my neck sensually, and I should kneel before her, using this devastating tactic to evoke the memories of us falling in love.

I cave.

"Two nights. Okay, let's see how it goes." On paper, I'm into it, but the reality might not be as easy as Bella suggests. I know my daughter, and if Georgia really wants to come home, then I'm not sure any of us are going to be tough enough to say no.

Bella is getting ready when Irina appears in the hallway, looking concerned. Georgia comes out sheepishly, snuggly warm in her dressing gown, pajamas, and wooly slippers, but there's no overnight bag in sight.

"You ready to go?" I ask optimistically.

"Not going," she declares, and Irina shakes her head behind her.

"You go Irina. Enjoy your weekend."

"You sure?" she asks, as if I don't know her son and his family are in town.

I wave her goodbye and open my arms to my daughter. "Come here, Button." Tentatively, Georgia inches toward me, and then takes over my lap. My suit will be covered in fluff, but if that's what it takes to have my wife to myself for forty-eight hours, then it's a small price to pay. "You know how disappointed Nanny and Pop will be?"

"I don't want to, now."

"Georgia, when you agree to something, people make plans. Your grandfather has bought you golf clubs." She purses her lips for a moment, and then shrugs. "How would you like it if I promised to take you somewhere you wanted to go, and then just before we were supposed to leave I said, 'I don't want to?'"

Her eyes narrow, and I see a spark of understanding, but this is a new concept when I've honored every promise I've made to her. I have to choose something she can relate to.

"Before Mommy and I were married, I agreed to go to her college graduation, then it was too hard to drive all the way down to Lafayette in time, so I said I would watch it on TV instead. Mommy didn't tell me how disappointed she was or that she had already bought tickets for a special dinner, just like we have to buy tickets for Disney on Ice in advance. When I look at her graduation photos, I'm not in them, and it always reminds me how sad I made her that day."

Georgia doesn't need to know the details of that weekend or how hard I tried to redeem myself. She has seen the photos of Bella in her cap and gown, and I hope she can empathize on some level, because I can't come up with a better example of this message I'm trying to convey. I must look miserable because her little hands cup both of my cheeks.

"Daddy, kiss?" she asks with a hint of a smile.

I melt and hug her, always ready to accept the endless smooches she bestows on me, slightly encouraged by the shift away from defiance.

Taking her hand from my cheek, I marvel at her long fingers, and ask for the commitment she made to me personally. "What about the surprise we planned? Mommy doesn't know either, and I want to be proud of you."

I look up, and her blue eyes are glistening. Nodding her head, she says, "Okay, Daddy," and I'm so relieved, my face breaks out in the biggest grin as she peppers my cheeks with kisses.

"Are there any kisses left for me?" Bella appears, looking devastatingly beautiful. She's wearing more eye makeup than usual and pinned her hair into the soft updo she knows I adore.

"Million kisses!" Georgia's hands widen to represent a number she cannot comprehend, and she giggles when Bella scoops her up and spins her around.

Sighing, I sit back and enjoy my girls dancing in front of me. I know I just dodged a bullet, when using the threat of discipline would have ruined the night for me. What just happened has showed me that my daughter can be selfless, and that's a pleasing thing to know.

Mom and Dad win Georgia over with three flavors of ice cream and pizza delivery. We do eat pizza, but Irina makes such a mouthwatering version at home, we don't order out that often. Frankly, I don't give a damn what my daughter eats this weekend. If cardboard pizza makes her settle and stay, then I'm for it.

Relaxed enough to accept the whiskey Dad hands me, he asks how the car is going. The car—not me. His attention soon diverts to Bella, sucking up the details of the cases she's working on, and Georgia gravitates to my lap when Mom places the pizza order, then fills me in on their plans for the weekend. She is joining them tomorrow to oversee the lunch, and it makes me more comfortable knowing she'll be there.

I check my watch and decide it's time for our surprise. "You ready, Georgia?" The moment of stage fright I see in her eyes lessens when I take her hand. My daughter has been ready for a while now. "Will you join us at the piano? We have a surprise for you."

"Oh." Mom clasps her hands together, and she and Bella exchange glances of anticipation. Even Dad comes in and sits on the arm of a chair—outnumbered, I suppose.

Georgia had seen me playing since she was a baby, so I wasn't surprised when she wanted to bang on the keys. Resisting the urge to turn her into a mini version of myself, I welcomed her watching me compose, but didn't offer to teach her. If I wanted to play at length, I would wait for her nap and retreat to the studio, using the electronic keyboard with headphones. Then one day, I caught her uncovering the keys on the baby grand.

"What are you doing?" I asked, mildly annoyed with her. She knew the piano was off limits without me around. I walked over to close the lid and found her touching one of the keys.

"G is for Georgia," she said, smiling up at me. She had labelled the note correctly, blowing my mind. We had been reading books where D was for Dog and so forth, so she must have made the connection.

"That's right. G is for Georgia. Well done." I held up my hand and we high fived. "Do you know any others?"

She looked back and forth along the keys, and pointed to the note two to the left. "That's you, Daddy. E is for Edward."

"Who taught you this?" I asked, my mind spinning.

"You did, Daddy. I want to play, too."

Ever since that day, I have been teaching her, careful to keep the lessons short and only if she's having fun, but something has been happening recently. Bella hasn't heard the nuance in her performance yet—the way she understands the drama of the rest. She is also unaware of the subtle changes in Georgia's singing voice.

I situate Georgia on the stool, and she places her fingers on the keys, shifting her backside until she's comfortable. I'm stationed to her left, in charge of pedals and accompaniment.

"Whenever you're ready, I'll follow," I say with a smile to bolster her confidence. She blows out a breath of air, and I feel her fear, knowing the terror of striking that first key before an audience. "Wiggle your fingers," I add, and she does, finally smiling back at me.

Softly, she plays the first verse of Good King Wenceslas, adding the simple chords we practiced. They've all heard me play "Little Girl Blue" before, but Bella will recognize the changes I've made to the lyrics. The original was too sad for my little girl to sing.

Georgia doesn't make one mistake, and we blend. She fades out and I build a bridge that eventually slows for her to start singing. As usual, her timing is effortless.

Sit there
And count your fingers

The sandy quality in her mother's voice is so evident in her lower register.

What can you do
When you're just two

Hearing Bella gasp, I know she just heard high notes delivered with Rose's purity.

Sit there, count your little fingers
Our happy little girl blue.

I keep playing, just a chord here and there, while she plays two more bars, getting ready for the second verse.

Sit there
And count the raindrops
Falling on you
It's time you knew
Sunbeams turns them into rainbows
That shine on little girl blue

Georgia leans against me as I play a conclusion to two verses that feel as triumphant as my first ever evening at the Green Mill. I kiss my daughter's head and, after a few moments of silence, we hear applause and turn around to see Bella and Mom standing and beaming.

"Bravo!" Mom calls out, hugging us both, and I catch Bella wiping a tear from her eye before she takes Georgia into her arms.

"I think we're a success," I whisper to my daughter and she cups my cheek.

In a low voice, Dad mutters, "Very good," and I turn around, catching him leaving the room. As my shoulders drop, my joyous mood departs with him. I honestly believed he was softening for his only grandchild, but he can't bring himself to give her a real compliment, just like he never could with me.

I run through the things we packed in the bag with Mom, and we hang around until the pizza guy arrives.

"It's time for us to go, Georgia," Bella announces, her eyes darting to mine. "Give me a hug," she says, crouching down. "I'm so proud of you."

Then Georgia looks at me, and her little mouth curves downward. It's the face she pulls just before she starts to bawl. Shaking my head so slowly only she will notice, I know I'm supposed to hold it together for her sake, but I'm close to crying myself. "Don't eat too much ice cream," I threaten, pointing a finger at her, and she tries to smile bravely. "Okay, well…"

"Daddy?" She launches herself at me and I lift her, wanting to crush her to me and take her home.

"We really gotta go," Bella reminds me, and I nod, giving Georgia a final squeeze.

"See you Sunday," is all I can manage right now.

Mom carries her out to say goodbye. Dad hovers behind them, surly as ever.

"I guess she'll be warm enough," I mumble to myself. "She's in my old room."

"Can we just go, Edward?"

I glare at my wife, so much stronger than me. "Jeez, you're tough."

"No, she's gonna see me crying." Bending down, she fishes through her handbag and pulls out a pack of tissues.

Starting the car, I manage to wave, like I'm not falling to pieces. Bella whimpers as I back out the driveway, and no more than a block from the house, she starts making sounds like she's hyperventilating. I pull over to discover she's sobbing.

She looks at me with black lines streaming down her cheeks. "I want to go back and get her."

"That was gut wrenching," I agree, collapsing against the steering wheel.

We sit there for a while, lost in our own thoughts while she blows her nose. I'm so drained, the last thing I want is dinner and dancing tonight.

"It's your fault I'm a mess," she sniffles. "You had to pick tonight for that performance?"

"I'm sorry, we thought you'd enjoy the surprise."

Touching my hair, she says, "I loved it, and I love you." Sucking in a lungful of air, she starts to cry again. "She has such a beautiful voice." Blowing her nose again, she adds, "She's you, Edward, all the best parts of you."

I lean back in my seat and really look at her. "And she's you in a million other incredible ways."

Turning on the interior light, she sighs when she sees her face in the mirror. Looking down, she scrapes her hands over her chest. "I'm covered in that stuff from her dressing gown."

"I am, too. Do you want to go home?" I ask, hopefully.

"Yes please," she responds, clearly relieved. "Can we just watch a movie?"

"Make it a comedy," I request, knowing anything heavy will tip me over the edge.

We don't leave the apartment once, making love and relaxing, talking for hours like we did when we first married. It's funny, but most of our conversations revolve around Georgia.

The golf day is a success. Georgia sinks a shot on the putting green, and we feel part of her joy in her phone calls and the images they send.

Bella calls her parents, organizing a weekend for Georgia to stay in Lafayette. She tells me she will handle our accommodations, and we laugh, recalling the last time I drove down there without a place to stay. She wants to revisit the sex we had in her postage stamp sized apartment.

We sit at the baby grand and I play the new pieces I've been writing. Bella is teary when she urges me to record them, and that leads to the discussion on how my return to work will impact our family.

She admits she is already planning to reduce the number of cases she takes once the next baby is born, and I tell her I think she will enjoy the experience of caring for our kids. However, I state that I expect her to adopt my strategy of strict discipline.

"Really?" she scoffs, taunting me with her eyebrows arched. "You're a pushover."

"Oh yeah?" I rake my eyes over her. "I'll show you who's a pushover."

Ten minutes later, I'm shirtless with my jeans down around my knees, and she's naked, smothering me with passionate kisses and riding my cock.

Well, I may be a bit of a pushover, but I really do love this girl.

We reconnect sexually and spiritually, and find we like each other in this new version of our relationship. Having a child has definitely changed us, and while we are both looking forward to another one, we know we've been starved of nourishment as a couple. We did need time away from her, but we're both dying to see her again.

We make a pact to find more time for us in the future.

The only thing we argue about is my father. I cannot forgive his disdain for Georgia's recital, but Bella insists he adores his granddaughter.

When I huff and tell her it's me he can't stand, she offers, "You never try to understand him. He doesn't have the means to embrace a family because he grew up without one of his own."

"That was a long time ago, Bella. What's his excuse for being a prick now?"

"He lost his parents and had to move in with strangers. There's a finality to that kind of event that can leave scars," she declares. "Just imagine the impact on Georgia's life if we were both gone."

My father won't talk about the death of his parents, and I don't know why his grandparents didn't take him. I do know he was the only grandchild, so it's a tragedy he ended up in the system. If something were to happen to us, Georgia has plenty of family who would look after her. Rose would want to adopt her.

The idea of Georgia going through my father's ordeal is devastating, and now I can't wait any longer. I tell my wife I want to go and pick up our daughter.

We're like a couple of excited teenagers sneaking in their front door, and seeing Georgia is like breathing again. We find her deep in concentration over a game of the checkers with the old man, but she jumps up as soon as she sees us.

"Daddy," she screams, and rushes to me. I feel for Bella, who has always been gracious about the bond we share. I now know she needs more, and I'll have to adjust to Georgia choosing her over me.

We delight in hearing everything that happened since Friday night, but we want to take her home now, so neither of us accepts Mom's offer to stay for a meal.

They walk us out to the car and my father watches me buckle Georgia into her seat. "She is welcome back anytime, Son." Jeez, I can't remember him ever calling me Son. "You just name the day and we'll take her, gladly."

"Thank you," I respond, out of my depth with him being nice to me.

When I close her door, he touches my arm. "I mean it. That little girl is a credit to you. You've been a magnificent father and…" He clears his throat. "I wish I could have been that kind of parent to you."

I look in his eyes and he's serious. He actually approves of something I've done, and is willing to acknowledge his failings. It humbles me.

"Would you like to come around more often, Dad? It looks like I'm going to record a new album soon, and Rose will be involved. You never know, you might enjoy the process." He turns his head to the side and looks past me. Okay, maybe it's better to keep the music out of it… for now. "Or you could spend more time with Georgia."

He smiles at me and nods. "I will try to make time."

There's no hug, no handshake, of course, but we've just taken a step in the right direction. For the first time, I'm optimistic that one day we might have a relationship like other fathers and sons.

In my head, I hear my wife trying to explain him to me, and I wonder if this is only about Georgia, or if Bella has played a part in his change.

The only thing I know for sure is he's no match for the girls in my house.

None of us are, really.

Thank you for reading and donating xo

The Babies at the Border Fic Compilation was the brainchild of Consuelo Hernandez and Jeannie Boom. Their hard work and the outpouring of donations from authors, pre-readers, betas, and banner makers raised $14,000 for the nominated charities. I am honored to have something of mine among such talented authors, and I'm proud to have played a small part in this wonderful and successful undertaking. Congratulations everyone. We should do this more often.

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