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Anger overtook me, and I grabbed the closest item and flung it at the wall. It exploded, sending shards of glass around the room. I stood, fuming and anxious. I paced around the room, glass crunching under my shoes as I made the circuit. I grabbed a bottle of scotch, twisting off the lid, drinking without a glass. This was why I didn’t allow emotion into my life. It was like a donkey, slow and useless, and it would kick you in the face when you least expected it. My parents never gave a fuck about me, and I had learned to rely on myself. I had let my guard down with Katharine and the bitch had fucked me over. She wanted to be gone? Well, good riddance. She could stay gone. When she finally called for her things, I’d send them along with divorce papers.

I froze, the bottle partway to my mouth. The chasm in my chest that had been threatening to crack open all day, broke. I sat down heavily, no longer interested in the bottle.

She wasn’t a bitch, and I didn’t want her gone. I wanted her here. With me. I wanted her quiet voice asking me questions. Her teasing laughter. The way she would arch an eyebrow at me, and whisper “go fuck yourself, VanRyan.” I wanted her to listen to my ideas, and hear her praise. I sighed, the sound low and sad in the empty room. I wanted to wake up beside her and feel her warmth wrapped around me, the way she had enfolded herself around my dead heart and revived it.

I thought back to our argument a couple weeks ago. The way she tried to convince me love wasn’t such a terrible thing. Had she been feeling something for me? Was it possible? I had dismissed her as being

overdramatic—the sadness in her eyes, the weariness of her voice when she told me she was tired of lying, and the guilt that weighed on her. I had insisted we weren’t hurting anyone. Graham got a great employee, Penny had a wonderful care home, Katharine would move on to a better life once this was over, and my life would continue. No one would be the wiser, and no one would suffer.

How wrong I was—because we were both suffering.

I wanted my wife back, and this time, I wanted it for real. I simply didn’t know how to get it.

I paced and brooded for hours, the bottle of scotch never far from my hands. When my stomach growled around two o’clock in the morning, I realized how long it had been since I had eaten anything. In the kitchen, I yanked open the refrigerator door and grabbed a container with leftover spaghetti. Not even bothering to heat it up, I sat at the table, twirling the cold pasta and chewing. Even cold, it was good. Everything Katharine made was delicious. My mind drifted to the night she had made me filet and asparagus with béarnaise sauce—a meal that rivaled anything I had eaten at Finlay’s. My praise had been honest, and her reaction had been one of her rare blushes. With her fair skin, she often had traces of color on her cheeks when she cooked or drank something hot. When she was angry, or nervous, her skin flushed a deep red, like a burning element, but her soft blush was different. It highlighted her face, making her even prettier than usual.

“I like that,” I mused. “Like what?”

“The way you blush. You don’t do it often, but when I compliment you, it happens.”

“Maybe you don’t compliment me enough.”

“You’re right, I don’t.”

She laid her hand over her heart in mock shock. “Agreeing with me and a compliment? It’s a rare day in the VanRyan household.”

I threw back my head in laughter. Picking up my wineglass, I studied her over the rim. “When I was a child, for a while, my favorite dessert was ice cream with strawberry sauce.”

“Only for a while?”

“Nana made it for me. After she left, I never got it again.” “Oh, Richard—”

I shook my head, not wanting to hear her sympathetic words.

“She would give it to me, and I loved to mix the sauce into the ice cream. It turned everything pink and soft.” I traced the edge of the table with my finger. “Your blush reminds me of that.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, then came over to me, bent down, and dropped a kiss onto my head. “Thank you.”

I didn’t look up. “Yep.”

“And if you think your pretty words are getting you out of the dishes, forget it, VanRyan. I made dinner. You clean up.”

I chuckled as she left the kitchen.

My fork froze midway to my mouth. I had loved her even at that moment. The easy banter, her teasing, the comfort I found with her presence—it had all been there, but I hadn’t recognized it. Love wasn’t something I knew or understood.

I dropped my fork and pushed the container away, my appetite gone. I looked around the kitchen seeing her touches everywhere. They were all over the condo. Little pieces of Katharine she’d added, making the place more than somewhere I lived. She made it into a home. Our home.

Without her, it was nothing. Without her, I was nothing.

“Richard? What are you doing here?”

I turned and watched as a familiar scenario played out in front of me. My boss, walking into my office, finding me packing it up. In my hand was a picture taken on my wedding day. I had been holding it, staring at it for God knew how long, thinking and remembering.

Graham stepped in, looking confused. “You’re supposed to be home with Katy. I told you to take all the time you needed.” He spied the small box on my desk. “What’s going on?”

“I need to speak with you.” “Where’s Katy?”

I met his gaze head on. “I don’t know. She left me.”

He reared back, shock written on his face. Reaching in his pocket, he withdrew his phone.

“Sarah, cancel my appointments and calls for the day. Yes, all of them. Reschedule as best you can. I’ll be out of the office.” He hung up. “I didn’t see your car downstairs.”

I shook my head. “I took a cab.”

“Put the picture back on your desk and come with me. We’re going somewhere private where we can talk.”

“I’m almost done,” I argued. “I didn’t have a lot here.” “Are you resigning?”

My sigh was laced with pain. “No. Once you hear what I have to say, though, I won’t have a job. It’s easier to do it this way.”

He frowned, and his voice became firm. “Put down the picture, Richard.

Once we talk, I’ll decide what happens next.”

I looked down at the picture grasped in my shaky hand. “Now.”

I did as he asked. He held out my coat, studying my face. “You look terrible.”

I shrugged my coat on and nodded. “I feel it, too.” “Let’s go.”

We didn’t speak in the car. I stared out the window at the city I loved but would possibly be leaving. Without Katharine or the job I wanted, there would be nothing left for me in Victoria. Once I had settled things with Graham and Katharine, I would move on to Toronto. It was a huge, impersonal city. I could lose myself there.

“Richard.”

I startled, looking at Graham. “We’re here.”

I had been so deep in thought I hadn’t realized where we were headed.

He had brought us to his house. I frowned, looking at him.

“We’ll have complete privacy. Laura is home, but she won’t interfere.” I swallowed. “She deserves to hear this, too.”

“Maybe in a while. We’ll talk first.”

I pushed open the car door, too weary to argue. “Okay.”