What had possessed her to read this letter—or any of the letters? Kate’s tender, intimate words were powerful enough to crush her. She would remember them every time she looked at Burke, and whenever they made love—if it ever happened again. Burke had belonged to Kate in a way that he would never belong to Allison. Maybe he was right in asking for a divorce. Maybe she was wrong in refusing.

Forcing herself to move, she put the letter back with the others and shoved the manila envelope into the rear of the file drawer. Burke had never mentioned a second baby. Clearly, something had gone wrong—a miscarriage or an even more tragic loss. Did she want to learn more, or was she better off not knowing?

In the kitchen, Allison found an opened bottle of Chardonnay from the party. Feeling raw inside, she poured three fingers into a glass, walked back through her perfect living room, and stepped out onto the first-floor balcony. The alcohol in the wine burned her throat as she sipped from the glass.

Leave the letters alone, she told herself. You’re already dealing with enough grief.

The autumn breeze had taken on a chill. Allison shivered beneath the light denim jacket she was still wearing from her walk. She checked her watch again. She still had plenty of time before Brianna’s flight was due.

In a way, it was good to have Brianna coming, if only for a few days. With Burke’s daughter around, there’d be no temptation to open that Pandora’s box and read more of those heartbreaking letters—letters that she should never have touched in the first place.

She was walking back to the kitchen when her cell phone jangled. Startled, she pulled it out of her pocket. The call was from the hospital.

“Mrs. Caldwell.” The voice was a woman’s. “This is Dr. Moorcroft. Your husband’s had a setback. We’ve got him stabilized now, but you may want to come to the hospital and be here when he wakes up.”

Allison’s heart slammed. “I’ll be right there. What happened?”

“He was having chest pains and shortness of breath. At first we thought it might be a heart attack, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. We think it was more likely a bad reaction to the pain medication, or the anesthesia—maybe even some injury we’ve missed. We’ve put him on oxygen and given him a sedative while we finish testing.”

“Will he be all right?” Allison forced the words out of her tight throat.

“He’s stable and sleeping. We’re monitoring his vitals.” The implications of what the doctor had left unsaid were terrifying.

“I’m leaving now. I’ll be there in twenty minutes—half an hour at most.”