Louisa sits on the shabby couch in her living room, staring blankly at the wall with her arms crossed tightly across her chest.

The furrow in her brow deepens as shadows are cast across her face by the overhead bulb's feeble light.

Liam lays on the carpet, his small hands guiding a toy truck along a road he had made up in his brain.

The only sound disturbing the quiet in the room is the slight scrape of the truck's wheels on the carpet.

Her mind races, a tempest of bewilderment and incredulity.

Kingsley had been treated so coldly by Fred—the Fred she had known for years, the man whose...