Chapter Ten
Harrison
The conference room at Vance it started as a convulsion. Sarah folded over the steering wheel, gasping for air as if she had been held underwater.
Then the sound came—a raw, guttural wail that shook her entire body. She screamed until her throat tasted like blood. She pounded the steering wheel with her fists until her hands ached.
She cried for the nursery she would never paint. She cried for the names she would never use. She cried because he was going to be a father, but not with her. He was going to love a child that was half-Emily.
She cried because she realized, with devastating clarity, that she was the only one who had truly lost everything. They had each other. They had a future.
She had a deed to a house that was full of ghosts.