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Fear flashes across her face. “Alexei.”

“It wasn’t accidental.”

She goes perfectly still.

I tell her everything. The battery pack. The donated towels. The fake donor information. The intentional fire. By the time I finish speaking, all color has drained from her face.

“Oh my God,” she whispers as she lowers herself into a chair. “Oh my God.”

I kneel in front of her. “Maggie.”

“I accepted those donations,” she says, shaking her head. Her voice breaks on the last word. “I carried them inside myself.”

“This isn’t your fault.”

“I should've questioned it.”

“You run an animal shelter,” I tell her gently.

Tears fill her eyes. “I should've noticed somethin’.”

I take both of her hands in mine. “You run an animal shelter,” I repeat. “Trusting people isn’t a crime.”

She shakes her head again. “The animals. Jules. The volunteers.” Tears slide down her cheeks. “People could've died because I didn't ask enough questions.”

I pull her into my arms. She comes willingly, burying her face against my chest while I hold her tightly.

“No,” I say against her hair. “Someone chose to target this shelter. That responsibility belongs to them.”

She cries silently for several moments. Then the office door bursts open.

“I hate to interrupt this emotional breakthrough,” Jules announces, standing in the doorway with obvious exasperation, “but Mr. Pickles has stolen a hardhat and is refusing to negotiate.”

Maggie immediately pulls away and wipes at her face.

“What?” she asks.

Jules points toward the hallway. “Apparently orange is his color.”

Twenty seconds later, we discover Mr. Pickles trotting triumphantly through the shelter wearing an oversized construction hard hat while three contractors attempt to catch him.

Maggie bursts out laughing.

I don’t. Mostly because Mr. Pickles appears alarmingly fast.

An hour later, Maggie and I leave to collect Ivy from dance school.

Ivy spots us waiting near the entrance and breaks into a run.

“Maggie!” she cries.

Maggie kneels just in time to catch her. “Hey, baby girl.”

“It was the best day ever,” Ivy announces breathlessly.

She chatters happily about her entire day as we walk toward the SUV. School was wonderful. Lunch was wonderful. Recess was wonderful. Dance was wonderful.

She speaks continuously for the entire walk.