He touched the silver key in my hand.
“I started thinking about what you had lost.”
I looked down at my stomach.
Then back at him.
“Can we go there?”
His entire expression changed.
“Right now?”
I nodded.
He smiled.
“Of course.”
I told my mother I would call her later, then ended the call before she could say anything else.
I needed to see the house.
I needed to understand what Ethan had done, and perhaps, somewhere beneath all the shock and hurt, I needed to see whether the place I had remembered for nineteen years could still exist outside my memories.
The drive took about thirty minutes.
I recognized the neighborhood almost immediately.
The narrow streets.
The enormous trees arching over the road.
The little grocery store on the corner where Dad used to buy bread on Saturday mornings.
Every familiar detail made my chest tighten.
When Ethan turned onto our old street, I grabbed his arm.
