Angelica waved her hand in front of her face. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to be left behind? My father, Major Gatlin, did that.”

“Major Gatlin? The guy who used to tour with—”

“Yes. Major was my father. I didn’t see him for the last five years of his life—not once.”

I rocked back on my heels, my guts seeming to fall onto the floor. “Angelica, I’m so sorry.”

She studied me. For the first time, her face was wan, tired. Her eyes no longer bright. She dipped her head. “I survived.”

I turned back to look through the small window in the door. Ella’s waist dipped in before flaring out over her hip. Her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. From here, she didn’t look pregnant. And she didn’t look old enough to be my wife of fifteen years. She’d always been so capable—ready to make others laugh, to take on another assignment, committee, a ten-boy sleepover in the park. Whatever needed doing, Ella managed.

Her chest stuttered and my heart ached.

“Ella’s been my muse and my rock for so long. How did I lose sight of that?”

Angelica turned back toward me, her brows pinched tight over her nose and her lips pursed in annoyance. “I think the better question is, why do you get to live your dream at the expense of your family?”

11

Ella

I hadn’t seen Simon yet today, and his absence left me tetchy. I had a huge bouquet from him—and another from Lia, Asher, Briar, and Hayden. Both were lovely and smelled delightful. Based on the weight of Simon’s bouquet, he might have bought out the entire floral shop, but the arrangement was tasteful and held all my favorites.

At least he remembered my love for ranunculus. And peonies. And . . . sigh, yes, those feathery tulips I adored. I’d made him go to the tulip festival in a small town north of Seattle with me not once, but twice. Jeremiah ran through the rows pretending to be a crop duster while I stopped to touch each flower, to take a million pictures.

Each time, Simon smiled and bought me a big bouquet to commemorate the trip.

We hadn’t gone in the last five—maybe six—years.

I rolled my eyes as I edged to side of the bed and set my booted feet on the floor. The tulips were a nice touch, but he should have remembered I promised to love him till death did part us.

Now, though, after being blindsided by his desire to be well-rid of me, could I ever trust him again?

Therein lay the crux of the whole matter.

“Ready, then, love?”