"Because I won't be somebody's pawn," Luce said. "I've made that clear from the beginning of time. You can dress it up pretty, but I'm no fool. You want a face for your campaign, a scapegoat to accept the blame from above, and who better than the biggest villain of all, right? Who better than Satan to take the heat? But I'm done… I'm done fighting a lose battle for control of this shitty planet that I don't even want anymore. I wanted Paradise, but look around you, Don. Paradise is gone."

Abaddon's eyes narrowed. "I implore you to change your mind while you still can."

"While I still can? Is that a threat?"

"Just a suggestion," Abaddon said. "The world is changing, Lucifer, and soon. When the chips fall, you'll want yours to be on the winner, especially if you want her to stay safe."

Luce stepped toward him, going toe to toe, face to face. "And I have a suggestion for you."

"What?"

"Be careful what you say," Luce said. "You're full of empty promises, and one of these days, I might finally decide to hold you to them. When I do, you'll have a hell of a lot to atone for. So don't bury yourself too deep, or you might never fly off from the ground again."

"Ugh!" The groan seemed to echo through the yards. "Seriously?"

Serah glanced toward the house next door, toward the source of the voice, as she planted flowers in the patch of dirt beside her small porch. Next door, by the mailbox, the pregnant woman clutched her stomach as she tried to reach down to pick up some envelopes she'd dropped.

Serah was on her feet, heading right for her without a second thought. She quickly bent down and scooped up all the dropped mail, standing back up to hand it to her. "Here you go."

"Thank you so much," she said, taking the envelopes. "You are Heaven-sent."

Serah smiled at that.

"I'm Samantha," the woman said. "You must be the new neighbor my daughter keeps going on about."

"Serah." She held her hand out, smiling as she used the name Luce had told her. It felt normal, like the name had given her a piece of her identity back. "Your daughter's a sweet child. She tried to help me when she thought I was lost."

"Yeah, that sounds like Nicki." Samantha shook her hand, smiling. "Would you like to come in for a drink or something?"

"Oh no, I wouldn't want to impose."

"You wouldn't be imposing."

"If you're certain..."

"I am," she said, matter-of-fact. "I would give just about anything for some adult conversation."

"Well, okay then," Serah said. "That sounds great."

As soon as Serah stepped inside the small house, a strange sensation tingled inside of her, setting her at ease. It was as if she'd been here before.

"Have a seat," Samantha said, motioning toward the small, round kitchen table. Serah slid into a chair as Samantha procured a bottle of wine from the fridge and two cups. It was nothing fancy—the cups were red disposable plastic, the wine straight off of a department store shelf, the price sticker still affixed to the bottle.

Samantha easily popped the cork, dumping quite a bit in one cup with just a splash in the other. She nudged the nearly full one toward Serah.

"I know, I know," Samantha said straight away. "Pregnant women aren't supposed to drink, and I don't... I haven't had a drop since I found out I was expecting. But after today, I need a sip… just a taste… something."

Serah smiled sadly. "Bad day?"

"That's an understatement," she said, dropping down onto the chair right across from Serah. Up close, the woman looked exhausted, but a warm smile graced her lips anyway. "I'm so tired, I can't sleep, don't even have enough energy to keep up with Nicki, and my husband called this morning to say they're switching to twelve-hour shifts. Which is great, you know, because we need the money, but I'd love to have my husband around more."

"I'm sure he'd love to be around more, too," Serah said, the words flowing from her lips without a thought as she picked up the cup and sniffed it. It smelled like sour grapes. She'd never drunk wine before.

"Yeah, I know he would," Samantha agreed, throwing back her swallow. Closing her eyes and tilting her head back, she swished the wine around in her mouth for a moment before spitting it right back into the cup. She smiled sheepishly before pushing the cup aside and continuing. "Nicholas—my husband—works hard, and as much as I appreciate everything he does, all I seem to feel these days is what he can't do. Parenting, housework, yard work… I'll be wading through knee-high grass before long on my journey to get the stack of bills from the mailbox. Waddling as I go, of course, thanks to this one."

Samantha rubbed her stomach over her shirt.

"How far along are you?" Serah asked curiously.

"Eight months," she said. "He's due in four weeks."

"He?"

"Yep, a boy," she said. "Samuel."

The sound of that name hit Serah like a ton of bricks. Her insides felt like they were on fire, warmth spreading through her. "Samuel," she whispered. She couldn't quite place it, but that name felt as familiar as her own had the first time she heard it.

"He was a surprise," Samantha continued. "We weren't going to have any more after Nicki, but I guess God had other plans for us. Anyway, listen to me going on and on. Tell me about yourself, neighbor."