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Prologue
ZOE
Two and a half years ago
There was something bittersweet about walking alone through the labor and delivery wing when all you’d ever wanted was to start your own perfect, happy family.
It was even more bittersweet when you were still trying to get used to an empty ring finger and a wide-open stretch of future as a newly single woman.
The divorce was probably the best decision I’d ever made. Marrying him in the first place? Not so much. Sometimes the yearning for something leads toreallyshitty decisions, as I’d learned. Like picking a husband who, in the end, was a grade A douchebag with great acting skills and the emotional bandwidth of a teaspoon. The only things that man truly loved were his bank account and his healthy hairline.
There was a reason why I fell in love with him. Plenty of them, actually. Not even my best friend questioned him at first.
He was so handsome. Successful. Loved his mom. Brought flowers on our first date. Held open the door and didn’t even attempt more than a sweetly lingering kiss when he dropped me off.
He did all the right things for someone like me in the beginning. When I saysomeone like me, I’m referencing the little girl who devoured books with happily-ever-afters as soon as she was able to snatch them off the library shelf.
When you’ve gone your whole childhood with your nose in a book, inhaling fairy tales where the knight slays the dragon, saves the princess, and rides off into the sunset with her, it gives you a great imagination.
Too great, actually.
Because I’d done a bang-up job of imagining that Charles would be the perfect husband. Instead, I’d ended up right where I started—single, and still living with the ache buried deep under my ribs.
That ache had a name, of course. It was a tangible yearning for something.
Something that I’d willingly sacrificed because I couldn’t handle sticking with a marriage like that any longer. Leaving him, right though it was, meant hitting the pause button on the things I really wanted: growing old with a partner who loved me and raising a houseful of children together.
We had tried for kids for a few years. But it never happened.
That was the bittersweet part of starting over. I could truly walk away from Charles without looking back. But as I stood outside my best friend’s hospital room, the slight tang of bitterness faded into a wispy puff of air the first time I heard Mira Grace Spencer cry.
All that was left was the sweetness.
With an obnoxiously large stuffed duck tucked under my arm, I knocked gently on the door.
“Come on in,” a deep male voice called.
“It’s me,” I said. As I turned the corner, the sight of my best friend’s husband cradling a tiny bundle in his muscled arms had my heart absolutely melting into a puddle.
He barely took his eyes off the loud, squawking baby in his arms to greet me, but I did get an exhausted smile. “Hey, Zo. Amie’s in the bathroom with the nurse.”
Only a few hours old, Mira’s scrunched pink face was probably the best thing I’d ever seen.
“Oh, Chris,” I breathed. “Look at her.” I pushed up on my tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. “She’s perfect.”
“She is.” He glanced over at me, grinning when he saw the duck. “Holy shit, Zoe, that thing’s five times bigger than she is.”
I laughed, settling the duck into the chair in the corner of the room. “If I’m gonna be the favorite aunt, then my bribing begins now.”
The bathroom door opened, and Amie’s groan had me turning around.
“There’s the hottest mama I know,” I said.
She shuffled closer, exhaustion stamped all over her face. “You’re here,” she said, accepting my hug with a happy sigh. “How frickin’ gorgeous is my kid? I’m not imagining it, right?”
“No,” Chris said firmly.
I laughed. “Not even a little. She’s incredible.”
