I should have declined.
I should have thanked her, walked back to my truck, and returned to the small apartment where I’d spent most of the previous seven months trying to convince myself that being alone was better than being unhappy.
Instead, I nodded.
“Thank you. Just for tonight.”
“Just for tonight,” she agreed.
I didn’t know it then, but that simple invitation would eventually force me to confront my past, question everything I thought I understood about love, and discover a connection between my family and hers that neither of us could have imagined.
My name is Ethan Walker. I was thirty-two years old, and until that rainy night, I had become very good at living a life that looked perfectly fine from the outside.
I owned a small woodworking shop on the east side of Hartwell, a city tucked between two rivers. I built custom dining tables, bookshelves, cabinets, and furniture for people who cared about craftsmanship.
