But the greatest shock was waiting inside.
On the living room wall hung a photograph of my ex-wife standing beside that man in Paris, beneath the Eiffel Tower.
She was wearing the blue scarf I’d bought her years earlier.
Paris.
The city I’d promised to take her to when we got married.
And now she’d finally gone there.
Without me.
My name is Ross, and if you’d met me three years earlier, you probably would have thought I had everything a man could want.
I was forty-three years old.
I had a decent career, a comfortable house, a loyal wife, and three wonderful children.
My oldest, Ryan, was growing into a thoughtful young man. Hayley loved reading and drawing, while little Holly filled our home with questions, laughter, and scattered craft supplies.
My wife, Helena, was the person who made our family function.
She knew every school schedule.
