But as she turned to run for the door, still clutching the photograph, Jack was too fast, loping past her and slamming into it, his back to the timber, blocking her way.

“Cate, please, just sit down and I’ll tell you the truth—give me the chance to explain.”

“Explain how you have the photograph I gave my fiancé before he left for war? My fiancé who’s missing, presumed dead?” She was crying now, tears streaking down her face. “I don’t even know you, Jack, do I? I have no idea who you really are!”

He slumped down, skidding his back down the door until he was sitting in front of it, but standing or sitting, it was still blocked. She was still trapped.

Cate backed away to the farthest corner of the attic space, sitting under the window and staring at Jack, wondering what else he’d concealed from her. And as she looked at the picture, faded but still so obviously her, a deep pain erupted in her stomach. There was no reasonable explanation for him having the photo in his possession. How long had he even had it?

“How did you get this?” she whispered. “And don’t you dare lie to me.”

“I haven’t been honest with you, Cate,” he said, shaking his head, his regret painted all over his face. “I should have been, but I haven’t.”

“Well that’s abundantly obvious,” she muttered.

“I knew your fiancé,” he said. “I was with Charlie the day he died. We were in the same unit and the day we came under fire, we lost him and four other men in our regiment.” Jack swallowed and wiped his eyes. “He’d talked about you, shown me your photo, and when he died . . .”

It was like an arrow had been shot straight through her. “He’s dead? Charlie is actually dead?”

Jack reached for her, but she swatted him away.

“Yes, he’s dead. I was with him, but everything after that is such a blur, there were so many men falling, and . . .”

She was barely holding it together, her fists balled, nails digging into her palms. “You took this photograph from his dead body? You thought you could steal it?” All this time, she’d known deep down he was gone, but to actually hear it from Jack was something else. It was like receiving the news all over again.

“No, Cate. It wasn’t like that,” Jack said. “He was holding it, it was the last thing he saw before he died, and when I bent down and closed his eyelids, I didn’t want to just leave it. Not when it meant so much to him. It didn’t seem right to leave it behind in the mud.”

Emotion choked her, but eventually she managed to get her words out. “You didn’t think you should have tucked it into his jacket? To leave it with him?”