Chapters (51)
- Cover
- Praise for
- BOOKS BY KRISTAN HIGGINS
- Dedication
- Acknowledgments
- CHAPTER ONE
- CHAPTER TWO
- CHAPTER THREE
- CHAPTER FOUR
- CHAPTER FIVE
- CHAPTER SIX
- CHAPTER SEVEN
- CHAPTER EIGHT
- CHAPTER NINE
- CHAPTER TEN
- CHAPTER ELEVEN
- CHAPTER TWELVE
- CHAPTER THIRTEEN
- CHAPTER FOURTEEN
- CHAPTER FIFTEEN
- CHAPTER SIXTEEN
- CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
- CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
- CHAPTER NINETEEN
- CHAPTER TWENTY
- CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
- CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
- CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
- CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
- CHAPTER THIRTY
- CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
- CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
- CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
- CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
- CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
- CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
- CHAPTER FORTY
- CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
- EPILOGUE
- Readers Guide
- Questions for Discussion
- About the Author
- What’s next onyour reading list?
Sometimes, though, I’d remember the way his eyes lit up when I came into the room in our little red house in Cranston. I’d had that, and yet somewhere during the in-between spaces of our lives, I let it slip away. Infertility had eaten away at me, and I’d tried to drown my sorrow by becoming part of Stoningham, and then, when motherhood did come, we stopped being a real couple. Maybe we would’ve faded away no matter what, but I didn’t try real hard, either.
So maybe I owed John more than I wanted to admit. To love, honor and cherish . . . maybe I’d broken my vows, too.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Sadie
It was so, so good to spend the weekend with Alexander. He reminded me of who I was outside of my family, something more than the “other” daughter, the one who wasn’t as smart, accomplished or wealthy, or married and a mom.
With Alexander, I was fun, smart, hot, interesting—a person he wanted to be with. Same as my dad (minus the hot part, obviously). We drove up to the casino for dinner with Carter and Josh. Carter, ever on my side, made a few little hints about marriage—“Can’t wait to be your man of honor”—okay, pretty big hints. Alexander put his arm around me and kissed my temple. He picked up the tab with great flourish, and we all left fatter and happy and full of laughter and friendship. I felt loved again. I really did.
I felt better than I had since Dad’s stroke. The way he’d recognized Janet was astonishing, and I’d been over every day, trying to get him to say another word (my name, can you blame me?). The speech therapist and I talked for two hours, and I went to the house when she was there. He might’ve said dog when Pepper jumped on his lap. Duh . . . It was close to dog, right? He was getting there.
But today, I told Mom I had to spend some time on my house and had already painted the upstairs bedroom pale gray. If Dad improved enough, I could go back to the city in the fall, so this little hovel had to be on the market for summer. Hours on the Internet had taught me everything I needed to know. Ikea was my friend, and yes, I could wield the sledgehammer taken from my parents’ shed.