The place I had spent every summer of my childhood, the place I had learned to swim off a wooden dock, the place we’d had to sell five years ago when he died and the family couldn’t hold onto it.
The place I had cried about, quietly, more times than I’d ever told Wade — or so I’d thought.
Chapter 11 — The Aisle Goes Quiet
The grocery aisle had gone completely silent around us.
The woman in the floral dress was not my husband’s mistress.
She was a notary.