My heart squeezes painfully. Juliana had cursed her stretch marks, had hated the way pregnancy changed her body. Maggie is so miraculously different, I want to breathe her in.

“I thought you had a miscarriage.” I brush her hair over her shoulder. “That day at the river?”

“A blood clot,” she says softly. “I had to believe I was losing her before I could accept that I had to give her up.”

“It was a girl?”

She sniffs and leans her head into the crook of my shoulder. “They named her Grace.”

I close my eyes, trying to imagine what it must have been like for her.

“I wanted to keep her, but I couldn’t do that to my mom. So when Will assumed the baby was his and asked me to marry him…” She releases a long, slow breath.

“Did you ever tell Ethan?”

“He wanted me to get an abortion. I just…I couldn’t.”

“You did a beautiful thing.” I wrap my arms around her waist and squeeze. “You are so amazing.”

***

Maggie

Asher’s sleeping and the steady rhythm of his breathing has me drifting off.

When I came back to New Hope, I imagined a lonely life of grief and secrets, and life stretched out before me like a threat.

I know they think I tried to kill myself the morning I had the accident in my studio, but I hadn’t. But when I saw the blood pool at my feet, I hadn’t been scared. I’d been grateful that maybe it was over, maybe I wouldn’t have to do this anymore.

Asher changed that, and now life stretches before me full of hope and possibility.

I press my lips against his bare shoulder. I close my eyes and feel sleep wrapping me in its cottony grasp.

“I love you,” I whisper to this sleeping man. “Thank you for finding me.”

He surprises me by rolling to face me and drawing me against his chest. “I love you too.”

Chapter Nineteen

Maggie

“I’m glad you finally took me up on my offer,” Ethan says, sliding into the booth across from me.

The upscale Indianapolis restaurant he chose is clattering with the bustle of a healthy weeknight dinner crowd.

Sighing, I look at my watch. He’s fifteen minutes late. Some things never change.

He reaches across the table, brushing my hand with his. “How are you, Maggie?”

I pull away. “I’m not here because I want to reconnect.”

“That’s a shame, though I can’t say I’m surprised. I always figured you’d move on to bigger and better things than a small-town art professor. Who is the lucky guy? That rock star fellow, right? Much more your speed, I imagine.”

I shake my head. Why hadn’t I seen his constant manipulation for what it was from the beginning? “I don’t want to talk about my private life. I want to know what you’re doing with the Discovery collection. I deserve to know.”

He stills and jaw tightens. “Why?”

“Do you really want Claudia to find out about us?” I ask softly. “Those paintings will give you away.”

“I’m an artist,” he says. “She knows that.”

“Ethan, I was pregnant when I left you.”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t offer any response, aside from cutting his eyes to the menu.

“I was pregnant with your baby when I became engaged to Will.”

Still no response. I want to smack him.

“But I couldn’t go through with it.” I’m surprised how easily the words come. “I couldn’t go through with the lie, so I called off the wedding and moved to Connecticut where I lived in a maternity group home until the baby was born.”

He places his napkin in his lap and lifts a hand to signal the server. “Do you have any wine by the glass?”

“Yes, sir,” the server says, producing a leather-bound menu.

Ethan studies it for a moment before pointing to his selection. “Two glasses, please.”

“Excellent choice. I’ll be right back with that, sir.”

I wait, determined to give him time to soak in my confession. He doesn’t speak until after the server arrives with the wine and leaves again.

Ethan takes a tentative sip. “It has a lovely, earthy flavor.”

My patience snaps. “Do you understand what I’m telling you? I had your baby and gave her up for adoption.”

His gaze narrows. “I understood the first time, but thank you for the translation.”

“I don’t want you trying to contact her,” I explain. “She has a good life with a good family, and I won’t have you destroying that.”

He slams his wine down, making the red contents slosh to the rim. “What, exactly, makes you think that I want anything to do with the child that you allege is mine?”

Fury whips through me. “I don’t allege anything—”

“Listen, Margaret. I didn’t want anything to do with the child when you practically confessed your pregnancy in my studio last year, and I certainly don’t want anything to do with it now. Even if it was, as you suggest, my own, it wasn’t the product of my intentions.”

“Wasn’t the product of your intentions?” The pressure inside me is too much. I want to strangle the bastard. “She’s a child, not a painting. And what do you—” My breath catches as his full meaning hits me. I’m so angry I hadn’t fully registered his words. “You knew?”

He rolls a starched white sleeve and opens his menu. “Contrary to what you seem to think of me, I’m not dense. I knew. I even knew that you gave it up for adoption, though that took a bit more digging. It was in my best interest to know that you weren’t going to try anything ridiculous like raising the child on your own.”

Flames of anger twisted inside me. “Why would that have been ridiculous?” I have to ask because it’s the question that won’t leave me alone. Why would it have been so ridiculous? Why couldn’t I have been a single mom? I could have done it. The truth would have hurt my mother but she would have survived.

Ethan glances up from the menu and smiles sweetly. “Because I didn’t need you coming around asking for child support years down the road.” He shrugs. “Like I said, I have no reason to believe it was mine. If you’ll remember, chastity has never been a virtue of yours.”

I force myself to swallow my rage, but it goes down chalky and bitter. “I’m leaving.”

“Suit yourself.”

I stop, take a breath, and turn slowly. “I sacrificed everything to keep this secret. If you show those paintings, it’s hard to say how much of that is going to be brought out into the open.”

“Are you worried the truth might ruin things with your latest boy toy? Don’t fool yourself, Margaret.”

“Some of us are just too cold inside to be capable of real love.” He doesn’t say the words now, but he doesn’t need to. He said them enough in the past that they hang in the air between us.

I used to believe those words, but I don’t anymore.

***

William

I’ve lost her. I can see it in her eyes. She stands taller somehow, and even when she’s not smiling she looks happy. I’m grateful for that, but jealous as hell I couldn’t be the one to do that for her.

The gallery gleams. Everything is ready to go for tomorrow night’s opening, save the Bauer exhibition in the side room.

Even though she’s glowing and standing taller, I can tell Ethan’s missing pieces have Maggie worried.

“Did he give you any hint about it?” I ask her when I catch her staring into the empty space.

She swallows and shakes her head.

“He painted a lot of women, Maggie. I’m sure no one will know about the affair if he shows paintings of you.”

She doesn’t respond, but eventually she turns to me, arms wrapped around herself. “If you knew about the affair, why didn’t you ever question whose baby it was?” Her face is lined with grief I wish I could take away.

“You know one of the reasons Krystal and I were such a good match?” I ask, answering her question with one of my own. “She doesn’t mind adopting.”

Maggie blinks at me. “Adopting?”

“Yeah. We were going to make our family that way.” I wait a beat. “I’m sterile. I found out when I was sixteen. Football accident.” I wince. “Cleats aren’t very forgiving.”

“Sixteen?” she whispers. I can practically see her mind piecing together the implications of my confession.

“I would have taken you however I could get you, Maggie.” I shove my hands in my pockets. “I still would. I don’t think you ever understood that. I don’t think you ever believed you were worthy of that kind of love.”

***

Maggie

He never asked me if the baby was his. I always wondered at that kind of trust. I pegged it for naiveté. I said I was pregnant and he asked me to marry him.

But Will knew he was sterile. Which meant he had known the baby couldn’t be his. He knew I was asking him to raise another man’s child. And he hadn’t said a word because he’d thought that was what I wanted.

“I need to sit down,” I say softly.

I head for the patio and Will follows me out. We settle into seats at the stone table, breathing in the fresh evening air.

“I should have told you,” he says. “If you’d known I knew the truth, you might not have hated yourself so much.”

I look into his baby blues and see honesty there. “You were trying to protect me.”

“I’d do anything for you, Maggie.” He draws in a shaky breath. “I should have waited for you. I would have if I’d believed—”

“It wouldn’t have made a difference.” I have to cut him off. I can’t make him suffer like this. “Don’t beat yourself up for falling for Krystal. I’d already ruined what we had by lying.”

He’s watching me, pain in those beautiful eyes. “I don’t suppose I could talk you into starting over. Starting fresh. With me.”

My breath snags on the edge of my healing heart. “I’m in love with Asher.”

He closes his eyes as if he can’t stand to see my words hit the air. As if looking at me while I say them makes them too real.

“You’re going to find someone, Will. I know you’re going to get your happily-ever-after.”

“And you’re sure he can give you yours?”

“I don’t think you ever believed you were worthy of that kind of love.”

I hadn’t believed. Until Asher.

“I’m sure.”

Chapter Twenty

Maggie

“Here’s to a new home for martini nights!” Hanna says, lifting her margarita glass.

I grin and take a swig of my beer. I don’t know what it is about Brady’s—the memories, the neon Bud signs, the clack of billiard balls in the background—but I love being here. “Thanks for meeting me,” I say to my sisters. “Tomorrow’s the gallery opening, and I wanted to celebrate.”

“I can’t wait,” Lizzy says. “I bought a new little black dress and red heels that make me horny just lookin’ at ’em.”

The front door opens and Kenny strolls in. It’s late on a Friday, and, judging by the way he’s walking, he might already be a little drunk. “Lucy!” he hoots when he spots me.

“Get a life,” Hanna growls.

He stumbles toward our table. “I’m not hurting anyone.”

“I need to visit the little girls’ room,” I announce, ignoring Kenny. “Either of you want to join me?”

“I’m not ready to break the seal,” Hanna says. “I’m going to get us another round. Want another?”

I look at my half-full beer and shake my head. “No. I’m good.”

A little bit of a crowd has formed, townies taking advantage of a beautiful June night free of college kids, and I have to maneuver through the crowd to reach the bathroom.

When I see my reflection in the mirror, I almost don’t recognize myself. I look…lighter. Happier. It’s been a summer, but worth it.

When I come back out into the dark hallway, Kenny’s waiting on the other side of the door.

He doesn’t let me get far before he has me in the corner, body pressed against mine, hands against the wall on either side of my head.

“Hey, Maggie,” he says softly, his eyes on my mouth.

I know I’m in trouble when I hear him use my real name, and I swallow the bile rising in my throat. When the boys at my high school decided I was a slut, I learned quickly they thought this meant I existed for their pleasure, to use when and how they pleased. For a while, I believed them.

Fuck that.

“Kenny, you’re drunk. Back off.”

He leans closer and my nose is greeted with the scent of beer and onion rings. “Nah,” he says, “that’s not what you want.”

His thumb grazes the edge of my jaw and I struggle to keep my cool, not to panic. I’ll get rid of him. He’s just a stupid as**ole looking for an easy lay, but he’s looking with the wrong girl.

“Kenny, you don’t want this. What would your wife think?”

“But that’s what you like, isn’t it? Fucking married men?” His lips curl into a twisted smile. “You act like you’ve changed, but I know you get around.”

I snarl. “You don’t know shit.”

“Admit it. You’re a little wet thinking about me f**king you against this wall and then going home to my wife. You like being the pu**y we dream about when we go to bed with our sexless wives.”