PART 1
The moment I saw my ex-wife standing beside a dusty country road with twin babies in her arms, something inside me broke.
Not because she looked poor.
Not because she looked tired.
But because she looked at me with pity.
And deep down, I suddenly feared she knew something I didn’t.
That afternoon, I was driving through the backroads outside Franklin, Tennessee, with my fiancée, Tessa Whitmore.
The wedding was only weeks away.
According to everyone around me, my life was finally back on track.
The painful divorce was behind me. The scandals were forgotten. The future looked perfect.
At least, that was what I kept telling myself.
Then Tessa suddenly sat forward in her seat. “Rowan, pull over.”
The sharpness in her voice made me hit the brakes without thinking. The SUV rolled onto the gravel shoulder.
“Look,” she said with a strange smile. “Isn’t that your ex-wife?”
