Logan had signed it six weeks earlier.
Before Ethan was born.
Before he knew whether I would ever speak to him again.
Attached was a note.
I didn’t rent this because I assumed we would get back together.
I rented it because if you allowed me to be part of Ethan’s life, I wanted to live close enough that “I’m on my way” would mean minutes, not promises.
If you never want me back as your partner, I will accept that.
But I hope someday you will trust me as his father.
I stood in my quiet kitchen with the note in my hand.
For the first time since Logan had returned, hope frightened me more than anger.
Because anger asked nothing of me.
Hope did.
And the following morning, when Robert called, he revealed something that made the choice ahead even more complicated.
“Joanna,” he said, “Logan asked me a question last night.”
