Evan Roth didn’t mean to come home early….
He looked around at the mess on the rug, the sunlight on the walls, the sound of his sons being loud and ordinary.
He thought about Claire—not as a wound, but as a presence. A woman who would’ve been unbearable about this, yes. A woman who would’ve cried and laughed and thrown her arms around everyone in the room.
Evan closed his eyes and let the memory wash through him without drowning him.
When he opened them, Aaron was looking at him.
“What?” Evan asked, smiling.
Aaron’s grin turned mischievous. “You’re making the sad face again.”
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