The day my wife left me without a word, I thought the worst thing I’d ever endure was raising our disabled son alone. I was wrong. Years later, a routine hospital visit revealed a truth that shattered everything I thought I knew.
I still remember the first time I saw Ivy. She was dancing barefoot at a bonfire party just outside our college town, hair wild, laughter louder than the music. People gravitated to her like she had gravity in her bones.
And somehow, by some miracle, she picked me.
“Hey,” she said, brushing ash from her cheek as she sat beside me. “You always look like you’re overthinking something.”