Mistaken Identity

“Not much. Yet.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You told me a story about why you’re here. It makes sense for me to check it out.” He took her arm again, leading her back toward his house.

“By checking out my family?”

“Why not?”

“Because my family has nothing to do with this. If you want to confirm my story, call Bryn Laurel. She’ll tell you about Henry’s diagnosis. She’ll explain how upset she’s been, how desperate to give Henry some kind of ho—”

“We can discuss it at the hospital,” he cut in. He wouldn’t ask again, wouldn’t let her give him more of an explanation. Not about the woman with the son who had cancer.

He could imagine the mother.

He could imagine the kid.

He could imagine getting pulled into their tragedy, and he didn’t want it to happen. He’d been down that road before and it had nearly broken him. He’d seen a lot during his time in the army. He’d said goodbye to way too many comrades, but the hardest thing he’d ever done was watch his daughter suffer and then die.

Ten years ago, but it still hurt.

His relationship with his ex-wife, Felicia, hadn’t survived. They’d been too different. He knew that now. Then? They’d been high school sweethearts, and he’d been joining the army. Marrying her had seemed like the right thing at the right time.

Until it wasn’t.

Until months of separation and countless arguments and a beautiful baby girl who was suddenly sick and dying and gone.

He was a different man now. Older. Hopefully smarter. The past couldn’t be changed, though, and he couldn’t go back and offer Felicia the support he should have given her. He couldn’t try to grieve with her instead of leaving her to grieve alone. He wasn’t sure that would have saved the marriage. Felicia had been seeing someone else for months before their daughter’s diagnosis. Maybe, though, it would have helped him move on without the boatload of guilt he carried.