Annika had shrugged. She had hit a nerve and was completely unaware. His father had gone quiet. It didn’t matter. Ned Bliant could not understand why his son was unable to let go of the past and move forward. “That’s what men do, son. You take care of your wife. Pay the bills, work overtime, cook if you need to. Men don’t wallow in themselves. Just take care of business. You’ll be fine soon enough.”

His father would never forgive him for divorcing Sheila, even though it had been Sheila’s idea. Somehow, Ned saw the divorce as Daniel shirking his responsibilities. And that was just as unforgivable as being in pain.

Daniel shook thoughts of his father from his mind. He had to focus on the task at hand. Sheila’s text was perplexing. They had parted amiably, if not quite friends, and Daniel had even attended her wedding. Jim was a good guy, and he treated Sheila well. In fact, under different circumstances, he and Jim might have been friends. There was no ill will between him and his ex-wife, just the shared bond of belonging to a club no one really wanted to be a part of. Stranger things had bonded people together.

They certainly did not hang out together. He knew it was hard for Sheila to look at him. Sara had had his smile, with both dimples. Hell, there were days he couldn’t look in the mirror. Basically, Daniel tried not to force her to see him.

He pulled into the older neighborhood, the acrid, sweet scent of burning leaves taking him back to a time of what should have been domestic bliss. Anger swelled in his chest as he thought about how all that was ripped away from him because someone with a vendetta had access to a gun.

He parked in front of his old house and sat on his bike, listening to trash cans being dragged to the curb, whistles calling dogs back in and the low chatter of neighbors conversing as they passed one another. The mundane sounds of a life he would never have again. He breathed deeply of the cool autumn air and calmed his anger before trying to face Sheila.

They’d argued about gun control, as well. At the time, Sheila was too wounded to feel the outrage, but outrage was all Daniel allowed himself to feel.

He took in the small home he had shared with his little family. A small front porch, carport at the side, small front yard with the same azaleas he’d planted. Someone was doing the upkeep: everything looked neat and in its place.

For some reason, Sheila had kept the house, even though Sara had lived in it. Or maybe she kept it because Sara had lived in it. Maybe the house was how she hung on to Sara.