I wanted to believe him.

For most of the year we’d been together, Oliver Vance had seemed like an answer to a question I was embarrassed to admit I still asked.

Could I be loved again?

My husband had died after a long illness, leaving me with three children and a house full of memories that sometimes made the rooms feel smaller instead of comforting.

Before that, I’d lost my older sister, Sarah, the woman who had been my closest friend since childhood.

I was tired of being the person who handled everything.

The school lunches.

The insurance renewals.

The leaky faucets.

The bills.