A soft, gentle smile crossed Malan Hamel's lips.

Things could not have been better for the 28-year-old actor. He was very happy with his life. Not only did he have a successful career, but he was married to the woman he loved.

Malan's smile broadened as his fingers subconsciously rubbed against his wedding band thinking abut his wife. He'd come to the theater to mess around while he waited for her to return home early that afternoon. He was especially looking forward to what they might share then ... and later that evening after his birthday dinner.

Malan jumped around performing everything from classic Shakespeare to contemporary drama. His transitions were smooth and seemless.

He was giving himself quite a workout, but it was preparing him for the upcoming comedy improvisation he was in.

Malan had been part of the Falls Theater professional company when he and Lathal moved back to Hallow Oaks a year ago. He was with the company before during his last year at North Central Texas University and before he and Lathal were married.

Suzanne Bentz was the director of the company then. Now the company's director was Erik Rosa.

People, the media in particular, thought he'd made a mistake by working for a professional theater company in a Dallas suburb. With his talents and abilities, they believed he was wasting his time with small potatoes. He should be in Hollywood or on Broadway.

His reputation and talent as an actor was well known. He had been in Hollywood and had won an Oscar, but even with the glitter and glammer of Hollywood, he longed to be on stage.

He'd been on Broadway too. He had earned awards and quite a bit of acclaim but to him the bright lights and marquees didn't mean success.

Performers knew if they wanted to be successful in theater they had to make it big in New York or Hollywood. Malan's natural theatrical abilities, instincts and skills had made him a success without his experience in the big time.

He'd been there and done that, but he didn't feel he needed it.

The media had criticized him for it, of course. But he didn't care less what anyone, particularly not the media, thought. He was his own man and he could do what he wanted.

He had never valued the media's opinion much -- save for one particular journalist.

Affectionate wisps highlighted the edge of his lips. He'd married Lathal Harvey, journalist extraordinare. She was just as successful and well known as him.

His eyes drifted to the clock mounted in the center of the director's loft. Two thirty. He better get going. It was his birthday, and he had no desire to stay. Besides, Lathal would be home soon.

"Whether the lights are on or not, you always give your best," Rosa commented from the spot he was observing on the director's loft above.

Malan chuckled, reaching for his black back pack tucked between the row of seats.

"Excuse me," interjected a clear voice sounding close by.

Malan straightened, appraising the police officer standing only two stairs above him. "Can I help you?"

The cop consulted his data pad. "Can you tell me who Malan Hamel is?"

His thoughts raced. He was a good citizen. What would the police want with him?

He licked his lip. "I'm Malan Hamel."

The cop's expression became serious. "I'm afraid I have some bad news. Your wife, Lathal, was injured in a car accident this afternoon."