The morning after we buried my father, my ex-husband’s new wife walked straight into his garden and told me to begin packing my belongings.

windows onto the worn leather chair where he had read to me as a child.

I arrived early.

Tyler came next, pale and restless, avoiding my eyes. Then Mason entered with Brooke on his arm. He wore the same navy suit he had worn to my father’s funeral. Brooke wore cream silk and a small smile she tried to hide.

“Hannah,” Mason said gently, as though we were continue reading …