A hope that had withered after Steve insisted on the Grand Canyon trip—and died along with Jonathan on a hiking trail in the baking sun.

“I should add water to the vase first.” Steve stopped at the coffee table. “I didn’t want it to spill on the drive over.”

She motioned toward the kitchen. “You can fill it in there.”

Less than a minute later he returned and set the flowers on the table in the bland, spartan room. If he noticed the sharp contrast in décor to the lovingly decorated house they’d shared, he didn’t comment on it.

She noticed it every day—but why waste any effort on a living space that would never feel like home?

Steve faced her. “I’ve missed you, Beth.”

Keeping her distance, she shifted her weight on the crutches. No way was she going to return that sentiment—even if there were nights when darkness pressed in and a soul-deep loneliness left her aching for his touch. Even if her conversation with Christi today had made her wonder whether tragedy could have wrought a lasting change in Steve as her new clerk claimed it had in her.

“I’m sure your job keeps you busy.”

“Not busy enough. Life’s not the same without you and Jonathan.” He shoved his fingers into the pockets of his slacks. “I’ve tried to tell you that in my cards and notes, but I’ve never been much of a writer. I wasn’t born with a single creative gene—nor the ability to appreciate them in others. The latter can be cultivated, as I’ve learned. But as you know from my attempts to express my regrets on paper, I found that out too late.”

Beth’s jaw dropped.

He’d realized the mistakes he’d made with Jonathan? Acknowledged them? Written to her about his epiphany?

His squinted at her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She rebalanced her crutches. “I, uh, haven’t read any of the letters you sent me.”

Shock flattened his features. “You threw them out?”

“No—but I’ve never opened them.”

“Oh, Beth.” He winced, as if in pain. “I knew you were angry—and you have every right to be—but I thought you’d at least . . .” His voice choked, and he swallowed. “This has been a terrible time for both of us. It would have been hard to weather together, but alone it’s been . . .” Again, his words rasped. “I keep hoping we’ll get back together. Is that really a lost cause?”

Pressure built in her throat at his abject misery—and her own. “I don’t know. The hurt runs deep. And it would never be like it was. Not without Jonathan.”

“I know that. But we could try to rebuild. I’ll do whatever it takes, Beth.”

Slowly she exhaled. “I’m not certain we can ever get past the heartache between us.”