It wasn’t until he received his Christmas card from Jacob Carter and his wife that he understood the vague sense of recognition that had made him instantly want to trust that young woman. There, staring up at him in the fancy cursive Amy Carter had used to sign the card:

“Merry Christmas!

The Carters, Jacob, Amy, and baby Samantha”

Samantha. Samantha Carter. Those eyes…

“Damn,” he couldn’t help but exclaim.

“What is it, dear?” His wife asked over his shoulder.

“Nothing.”

For George Hammond, it was going to be a long thirty years.