Tears burned in Roane’s eyes. “You get in the taxi, you take everything I am with you. You leave behind a fucking shell of a man. Over two stupid little lies that don’t mean anything, that don’t have any bearing on who I am or what you mean to me. Evie, please . . .”

Just like that, the pieces left of my heart splintered inside me. On a choked sob, I hauled open the back passenger door of the cab and threw myself in.

“Newcastle airport?” the driver confirmed.

“Yes,” I wheezed out.

As he pulled away from the sidewalk, I couldn’t help myself.

I turned and looked out the back window of the car and watched as Roane Robson scrubbed the tears from his face, his desolation so acute, there was a flicker . . . a flicker of doubt.

A flicker.

Now who was lying?

The truth was, as I cried in the back seat of the cab, the driver stiff and uncomfortable with my emotional display, I felt more than a flicker of doubt.

Yet I couldn’t seem to make myself ask the driver to turn the car around.

The impact of the shattered illusion of the life I thought we were beginning together in Alnster was bigger than my doubts.

I wanted Greer. I wanted Chicago.

My life there had never been a lie, a fantasy.

My life there was real.

I’d been lonely in Chicago, but it had never broken my heart.

Twenty-Seven

My friend was not glowing like people said pregnant women glowed. Her cheeks were flushed, yes, but the skin under her eyes was dark from lack of sleep.

Seven months pregnant, Greer sat on the sofa with her feet up on a stool, hands braced on her rounded stomach as she gazed at me. Pitifully.

We sat in her small apartment, while Andre was out picking up some takeout for dinner. I’d been back in Chicago for a week, and the aches and pains through my whole body would not dissipate.

The last time I remembered feeling like that was when my dad died.

Guilt mingled with my heartache because surely I shouldn’t equate breaking up with Roane to losing my father.

“It’s not just about him,” Greer suddenly said. “The way you talked about them during our catch-ups . . . it’s all of them. It’s the village and your friends, not just him. You’re homesick.”

“I’m not homesick,” I denied. “I’m going home tomorrow.”

It was true. I was renting a car and driving to Carmel to stay with my mom and Phil for a while.

“That’s not your home, Evie.”

“Greer . . .” I sighed. “Can we not? Can we just talk about the baby?”