was in her army uniform and she appeared to be gazing at him in silent accusation. He sank down on the brown leather recliner and picked up the photo.
It had been a little over a year since her death, and yet the pain of her loss felt as fresh as if she had died yesterday. He’d known her for three months before they had gotten married. Some people might have said they rushed things, but he had known it was right on the day he had met her. They had been married for three years when she’d been killed.
They’d dreamed of creating a family together. The plan had been that once both of them were out of uniform for good they would buy a house and work on making their first baby. But an IED in Afghanistan, where Ivy had been serving her last tour of duty, had ended not only their hopes and dreams, but also her life.
He ran a finger over Ivy’s face in the picture. Her short brown hair emphasized her big, soulful brown eyes. “I have to get along with her,” he whispered to her. “Avery is nothing more than the mother of my children. You have my heart, Ivy, and you’ll always have it.”
He set the picture back on the end table. He hoped he and Avery could become good friends for the sake of the babies. But there would never again be a woman in his life who was anything more than a friend, because his heart had been buried along with his wife.
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