He could still see the defiance on Ellen’s face, hear the contempt in her voice. “I’ve always loved Adler. I never loved Clay. How could I marry a dirty Mex—”

At least Ellen had enough sense to shut her mouth when Daddy’s face turned redder than Mama’s enchilada sauce. After all, Daddy had married a Mexican.

Clay punched his fist into his open hand. Whatever made him think any woman could love him? Not Ellen. Not Leah.

Except he’d never truly loved Ellen. He’d thought he was in love, but he’d only been enamored by her beauty.

Leah, on the other hand . . .

He loved Leah heart and soul.

Clay moaned and went back into the kitchen. He loved how she’d learned to make his favorite recipes. He loved the yellow checkered curtains she’d made, hanging at the window over the sink. He loved how her few dishes and pans were set in order in the cupboards.

He wandered into Leah’s bedroom. He probably shouldn’t have, but he did.

The bed, made so neatly it would have passed Sergeant Lombardi’s inspections. And big enough for two. Not that it mattered.

He averted his eyes and stepped into the nursery, a tiny room with a crib and a chair and a dresser topped with baby things. Everything smelled clean and fresh.

Clay abandoned their private space and went back into the living room. A small bookcase contained his books and hers, with his childhood books on the bottom shelf where Helen could reach them when she was able.

His violin. His radio. A red truck with “Paxton Trucking” in Daddy’s printing. The playpen with a white stuffed bunny and Clay’s old teddy bear.

He turned in circles in the middle of the room—Leah, Helen, and Clay all intermingled in this home, the three of them woven together over the past year in a way he savored.

Now it would all be undone.

He plopped onto the couch and dropped his head into his hands. “No, Lord. No.”

He loved her, wanted to keep her, but she didn’t want him.

His fingers dug into his scalp. He could still hear her breezy voice, rejecting him. He tried to shove the words away, but they played in his ear.

“I’m sure you’ll want to start the divorce proceedings right away . . . You have so many wonderful plans, and I know you’ll want to move forward with your life.”

Clay’s eyes and his mind opened, slowly, together. Wait. She hadn’t said she wanted a divorce, only that he’d want one, that he’d want to get on with his life.

He did want to get on with his life—but with her beside him.