One day a fire broke out in a canyon near our home. If the fire spread out of the canyon, dozens of houses would have been destroyed.

A fire marshal appeared at our door. "The fire is moving pretty fast. Start to evacuate."

Jorja hurriedly gathered the things she needed. I took Mary, who was five years old at the time, by the hand and whisked her out to the car. I had to quickly decide what I was going to take with me. In the den I had a collection of awards, a shelf full of first-edition books, research papers, sport clothes, and my favorite golf clubs. But there was something more important to take.

Rushing back inside, I grabbed a handful of pens and half a dozen yellow pads I could have replaced at any dime store, because somewhere deep inside me I thought we might have to spend a few weeks in a hotel, and I instinctively knew I could not let my writing be interrupted. That was all I took from the house.

"I'm ready."

Fortunately, the fire department was able to control the fire and our house was untouched.

It was a familiar voice on the phone. "The critics are crazy. I read the script of Roman Candle and I loved it." It was Don Hartman.

"Thanks, Don. I appreciate it." Send no flowers.

"I have a project I'd like you to write. It's called All in a Night's Work. Dean Martin and Shirley MacLaine are going to star in it. Hal Wallis is producing it. We have a screenplay that's pretty good, but it has to be rewritten for our stars."

"I enjoy working with Dean."

"Fine. How soon can you start?"

"I'm afraid I can't start right now, Don. I'll need about fifteen minutes."

He laughed. "We'll call your agent."

It was good to be back at Paramount. It had given me so many wonderful memories. There were still a lot of familiar faces around - producers, directors, writers, secretaries. I felt that I had come home again.

I had an appointment with Hal Wallis. I had met him a few times socially, but I had never worked with him. He had produced a string of prestigious movies, among them Little Caesar, The Rainmaker, I Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang, and The Rose Tattoo. Hal was a short, compactly built man with a grave manner. Now in his seventies, he was more active than he had ever been.

As I walked into his office, he rose. "I asked for you," he said, "because I think this picture is right up your alley."

"I'm looking forward to working on it."

We discussed the movie and he told me his vision of it. As I was leaving, he said, "By the way, I read Roman Candle. It's a great play."

Too late, Hal. "Thanks."

It was time to go to work.

Edmund Beloin and Maurice Richlin had written the screenplay and it was excellent, but Don was right. It had to be tailored for Dean and Shirley. They were both such distinctive personalities that the adaptation was easy, and I began writing.

One evening, when I got home from the studio, Jorja was waiting for me with a large bouquet of flowers. She was beaming.

"Happy Father's Day."

I looked at her in surprise. "Today isn't - " And then I realized what she was saying. I grabbed her in my arms and hugged her.

"Do you want a girl or a boy?" she asked.

"Two of each."

"That's easy for you to say."

I held her closer. "It doesn't matter, darling. Let's just hope the baby turns out to be as wonderful as Mary."

Mary was then five years old. How was she going to feel about having a brother or sister? "Are you going to tell Mary or should I?"

"I've already told her."

"How did she react?"

"Well, she said she was very happy, but a few minutes later I saw her counting the steps from our room to her room, and the steps from our room to where the nursery is going to be."

I laughed. "She'll love being a big sister."

"What are we going to call the baby?" I asked.

"If it's a girl, I'd like to name her Alexandra."

"That's a pretty name. If it's a boy, let's name him Alexander. That means defender of mankind."

Jorja smiled. "Sounds good."

We talked all night about our plans for Mary and the baby. In the morning I was exhausted, but happy. Incredibly happy.

The screenplay for All in a Night's Work was coming along well. I conferred with Hal Wallis from time to time and his comments were always helpful. Sets were being built and a director named Joseph Anthony was brought on board.

Cliff Robertson and Charles Ruggles were added to the cast. Although I had worked with Dean before, I had never met Shirley MacLaine. All I knew about her was that she was a very talented actress and that she believed she had lived many previous lives. Maybe she had. But when I met her in her present life, she turned out to be a dynamic redhead with a wellspring of energy.

"Sidney Sheldon."

She looked at me closely. "Shirley MacLaine. It's nice to meet you, Sidney."

I wondered whether we had met in another life.

Dean grinned when he saw me. "You haven't had enough of me yet?"

"Never."

Dean had not changed at all. He was the same relaxed, easygoing man I had known, completely unaffected by his status as a star.

After they split up, Jerry made forty more films and devoted himself to raising money for children with muscular dystrophy. Dean went on making movies and starred in a television show, which was a big success.

Television fit Dean's lifestyle perfectly. His contract with the network said he did not have to rehearse. He walked in, did the show, and said good night. And the show was terrific.

Jorja and I gave dinner parties and were invited out. In order not to emulate Otto's penchant for using his friends, I went too far the other way and unintentionally hurt some wonderful people. Eddie Lasker was the heir to the fabulous Lord & Thomas advertising agency. His wife, Jane Greer, was a beautiful and successful actress. They would invite us to their home frequently and their parties were lavish. Jorja and I enjoyed being with them.

One night, Eddie said, "We have such a good time together, why don't we have a standing date once a week?"

And I thought: I can't afford to entertain as lavishly as they do. I would be taking advantage of them. And I said, "Eddie, let's just see each other when we can."

I could see the hurt on his face.

Another couple we enjoyed was Arthur Hornblow and his wife, Lenore. Arthur Hornblow was a successful producer.

"I have a project I think you would enjoy," Arthur said one day.

He's very successful and I need a job, but I don't want to take advantage of him. And I said, "Let's just see each other socially, Arthur."

And I lost a friend.

All in a Night's Work was finished and a short time later Jorja was ready to deliver our second baby. This time I was ready. I knew where the hospital was and we left early enough so that there would be no last-minute dash. We were given a room at the hospital and there was nothing to do now but wait for the arrival of our - Boy? Girl? It really did not matter.

Our obstetrician, Dr. Blake Watson, had already arrived at the hospital.

At one o'clock in the morning, Alexandra arrived. I was waiting outside the delivery room when Dr. Watson and two nurses came hurrying out. Dr. Watson was carrying the baby, wrapped in a blanket.

"Doctor, how is - ?"

He rushed past me. I began to panic. A moment later, Jorja was wheeled out of the delivery room to be taken to her room. She looked very pale.

"Is everything all right?" she asked.

I took her hand. "Everything is fine. I'll be in to see you in a few minutes."

I watched them wheel her down the corridor. Then I hurried to find Dr. Watson.

As I was passing the newborn intensive care unit, I saw him through the window. He and two other doctors were standing over a crib in a heated discussion. My heart began to pound. I wanted to burst into the room, but I forced myself to wait. When Dr. Watson looked up and saw me, he said something to the others. They all turned to look at me. I was finding it hard to breathe. Dr. Watson came out into the corridor.

"What's happening?" I asked. "What's - what's wrong?" I could hardly speak.

"I'm afraid I have bad news for you, Mr. Sheldon."

"The baby is dead!"

"No. But - " He was finding it difficult to go on. "Your baby was born with spina bifida."

I wanted to shake him. "What does that - ? Tell me in plain English."

"Spina bifida is a birth defect. During the first months of pregnancy, the spine doesn't close properly. When the baby is born, it has only a thin layer of skin over its spine. The spinal cord is really protruding through the back. It's one of the most - "

"Well, for God's sake, fix it!" I was screaming.

"It's not that simple. It takes an expert - "

"Then get some experts here. Do you hear me? Now! I want them now!" I was crying, totally out of control.

He looked at me a moment, nodded, and hurried away.

I had to break the news to Jorja. It was probably the most difficult moment of my life.

When I walked into the room, she looked at my face and said, "What's wrong?"

"Everything is going to be all right," I assured her. "Alexandra was born with a - a - problem, but some medical experts are on their way here to take care of it. Everything will be fine."

At four o'clock in the morning, two doctors arrived and Dr. Watson took them into the newborn intensive care unit. I stood outside for a few moments, watching their faces, willing them to nod, to smile reassuringly. Finally, I could stand it no longer. I returned to Jorja. I stayed with her and we sat there, silently, waiting.

Half an hour later, Dr. Watson came in. He looked at Jorja and me a moment and said quietly, "Two of the top experts who deal with spina bifida have examined your baby. They agree that there is very little chance that she can survive. If she should survive, she will probably have hydrocephalus, an accumulation of fluid in the brain." Every word was a hammer. "She will also have bowel and bladder complications. Spina bifida is a permanently disabling birth defect."

I said, "But it's possible that she can live?"

"Yes, but - "

"Then we'll take her home. We'll have twenty-four-hour nurses for her and all the equipment - "

"Mr. Sheldon, no. She needs to be placed in a care center where they're used to dealing with this problem. There's a home we recommend near Pomona, where they can handle this."

Jorja and I looked at each other. Jorja said, "Then we can visit her."

"It would be better if you didn't."

It took a moment for it to sink in. "You mean - "

"She's going to die. I'm sorry. All you can do is pray for her."

How do you pray for your baby to die?

I read everything I could find about spina bifida in medical journals. The prognosis was not good. When Mary asked where Alexandra was, we told her that the baby was sick and would not be coming home for a while.

I had trouble sleeping. I had visions of Alexandra lying in a crib, in pain, in a strange place with no one to hold her, no one to love her. Several times I awakened in the middle of the night and found Jorja in the deserted nursery, crying. But there was hope. The records showed that some children with spina bifida lived into their adulthood. Alexandra would need special care, but we could give it to her. We would stop at nothing. Dr. Watson was wrong. Medical miracles happened every day.

When I came across an article about some new life-saving drug, I would show it to Jorja. "Look. This wasn't even on the market yesterday. Now it's going to save thousands of lives."

And Jorja would look for articles about medical breakthroughs. "It says here that new scientific discoveries are about to change the face of medicine. There's no reason they can't find something that will save our baby."

"You bet there isn't. She has our genes in her. She's a survivor. All she has to do is hang in there for a while." I hesitated, then added, "I think we should bring her home."

Jorja's eyes were brimming with tears. "So do I."

"I'll call Dr. Watson in the morning."

I reached him at his office. "Dr. Watson, I want to talk to you about Alexandra. Jorja and I think she - "

"I was about to call you, Mr. Sheldon. Alexandra passed away in the middle of the night."

If there is a hell on earth, it exists for parents who have lost a child. There is an unspeakable grief that never entirely goes away. We could not stop thinking about Alexandra and Mary growing up together, having a wonderful, happy life, sheltered by our love.

But Alexandra would never watch a sunset or walk through a beautiful garden. She would never see a flight of birds or feel a warm summer breeze. She would never taste an ice cream cone or enjoy a movie or a play. She would never wear pretty dresses or ride in a car. She would never know the joy of falling in love, and having a family. Never, never, never.

There is a belief that as time goes on, the pain diminishes. Our pain grew stronger. Our lives had come to a standstill. The only comfort we had was Mary, and Jorja and I found ourselves becoming ridiculously overprotective.

One day, I said to Jorja, "What would you think of adopting a baby?"

"No, not yet."

And a few days later, she came to me and said, "Maybe we should. Mary should have a sibling."

We talked to Dr. Watson about adopting a child. He had just been approached by a pregnant college senior who was about to give birth, and who had broken up with her boyfriend. She wanted to put the baby up for adoption.

"The baby's mother is intelligent and attractive, and comes from a nice family background," Dr. Watson said. "I don't think you can do better."

Jorja, our six-year-old daughter, and I held a family conference. "You have the deciding vote," we told Mary. "Would you like to have a little brother or sister?"

She was thoughtful for a moment. "It won't die, will it?"

Jorja and I looked at each other. "No," I said, "it won't die."

She nodded. "Okay."

And that settled it.

I made the financial arrangements.

Three weeks later, at midnight, Dr. Watson called. "You have a healthy baby daughter."

We named her Elizabeth Aprille, and it fit her perfectly. She was a beautiful, healthy, brown-eyed baby. I thought she had a killer smile, but Jorja told me it was probably gas.

We took Elizabeth Aprille home as soon as we were permitted to, and life started up again. Jorja and I began planning the dreams that we had planned for Alexandra. As far as we were concerned, Elizabeth Aprille was our own flesh and blood, a part of our lives. We would send her to the best schools and let her choose her own career. We were delighted to see that Mary cherished her. We gave Elizabeth Aprille the beautiful little outfits that we had bought for Alexandra. We bought her paints and an easel, in case she showed any inclination to be an artist. Piano lessons would come later.

As the months passed, it was obvious that Elizabeth Aprille adored her big sister. Whenever Mary came to her crib, Elizabeth Aprille giggled. It was wonderful to watch. Jorja and I had done the right thing. They would grow up together and love each other.

When Elizabeth Aprille was one week shy of six months, Dr. Watson telephoned.

"You made a great choice, Doctor," I said. "I've never seen a happier baby. I can't tell you how grateful we are."

There was a long silence.

"Mr. Sheldon, I just received a call from the baby's mother. She wants her child back."

My blood froze. "What the hell are you talking about? We adopted Elizabeth Aprille and - "

"Unfortunately, there is a state law that a mother who puts her baby up for adoption can change her mind within the first six months. The baby's mother and father have decided to get married and keep the baby."

When I told Jorja the news, she went pale and I thought she was going to faint. "They - they - they can't take our baby away from us."

But they could.

Elizabeth Aprille was taken away the next day. Jorja and I couldn't believe what was happening.

Mary, sobbing through her tears, said, "She was great while she lasted."

I am not sure how we got through the excruciating pain of the next few months, but somehow we managed. We found solace in the Church of Religious Science, a nondenominational, rational combination of religion and science. Its philosophy of peace and goodness was exactly what Jorja and I needed. We took courses for a year in practitioner's training, and then a second year. It was a wonderful healing experience. We still felt the vacuum in our lives, but ready or not, life goes on.