slammed into his gut—then he saw that she was shaking. This night, this reunion, was taking a higher toll on Sam than he’d believed it could.
And behind his wife’s turned back, on the sideboard, he saw it. A series of framed photos: a picture of them on their first date, holding hands and smiling, taken by a roving photographer; their engagement celebration, done at a professional studio, him seated, with Sam’s arms wrapped around him from behind; and their favourite wedding shot, a candid one taken by a friend, where Sam had tripped over something—he couldn’t remember what—and he’d grabbed her around the waist to steady her. Both of them were laughing with the joy of the day, her veil billowing around them like a benediction.
So she hadn’t forgotten. If there was a man in her life, she’d have put the visible reminders of her past in a drawer, where they belonged.
“So why were you talking cranky?”
Brett dragged his attention back to his daughter. All he wanted right now was to take Sam into his arms, to comfort and love her. But he wouldn’t even get to his feet without making a total fool of himself; reaching the floor for Casey had taken all the strength he’d had for now.
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