“It’s Mom.”

I stand. “Tell her I love her.”

He grins. “Will do. Where are you going?”

I point to the counter. “Cranberry scone. Want one?”

“Vanilla,” he says, and I walk to the counter and get in line behind two teenagers who can’t decide between the Caramel Waffle Cone Créme Frappuccino Blended Créme and the Double Chocolaty Chip Créme Frappuccino Blended Créme.

They’re happy, I’m happy, we’re all happy.

I’ve been through a lot. Come so freaking far. Persevered. Am I proud of everything I did to get to this point?

Of course not.

Then again, courtships are tough, and what woman hasn’t said or done things she wouldn’t brag about while trying to secure her future happiness? Maybe she omitted certain details about her past, like her drug history, her ex-lovers, or the fact she’s actually two years older than her fiancée. Maybe she didn’t want sex or wasn’t ready for it but gave herself to him anyway, to keep from losing him. Maybe she exaggerated her feelings for him because she never had a family and fell in love with his. Or maybe she broke up with him knowing it would make him crazy for her, knowing if she gave him another chance he’d be so glad to have her back he’d stop talking about having kids.

The sudden noise behind me is like something out of a horror film. I turn to see Michael standing, shaking, sobbing. I bolt to his side, shouting, “Michael! What on earth?”

“My father’s dead.”

“What?”

“He hanged himself.”

The room starts spinning. I grab my stomach, fight to keep from vomiting. “Omigod! Omigod! Oh no!”

He sits beside me, grabs me and holds on for dear life, and we rock back and forth and sob together on the floor, completely ignoring the manager and customers surrounding us, who ask if there’s something they can do. We’ve gone from top of the world to the depths of despair in seconds and the one thing I know with absolute certainty is things will never be the same. All the plans and sacrifices I’ve made have just gone up in flames. And yet…as I think about it, I wonder if there might yet be a silver lining.

Over the next two hours we’re in a slow-motion fog. I literally can’t remember getting to our feet, leaving the coffee shop, walking back to Michael’s apartment. Even now, we’re in a daze: packing clothes, stopping to cry, calling our bosses, stopping to cry, calling his mom, calling his sister, stopping to cry. Now, standing at the threshold of his bedroom, bags in hand, we take a moment to look at the clothes strewn throughout the room.

“You have everything you need?” he says.

“Yes.”

“Okay then, we should get going. Mom and Jess need us.”

I nod, knowing the next few hours and days will be extremely difficult. Over the past year I’ve grown extremely close to Michael’s family, and while I want to be all in for them, my mind’s going a thousand miles an hour, fighting the urge to bail. Because if David left a suicide note…

Michael doesn’t know, because other than the means of death, Alison refused to give any details over the phone.

“It’s impossible,” Michael says as I watch the trees and houses fly past the car window. “In a million years Dad would never kill himself.”

He’s right. David wouldn’t.

Except that he did.

And though I’m as shocked as anyone, I might be the only person on Earth who knows why he did it.

Unless he left a note, in which case the whole world will know by this time tomorrow.

As we work our way toward Lexington I make a mental note to ditch my secret cell phone at the first opportunity.

2.

8:15 p.m.

THE THORNE ESTATE was carved from a parcel of Fairborn Farms that was sold to generate quick cash in the early 1990’s when the thoroughbred business was suffering major losses. When the investor died his children subdivided the parcel and David Thorne purchased the largest tract, approximately nine acres, for $2 million. On that piece of prime land, he built the 15,000 square foot mansion we’re currently approaching, and it was here that Michael first introduced me to his family 16 months ago. Behind the house is a huge gazebo that overlooks a sculptured pond.