Chapter 1
For twenty years I had been married to Declan Price.
For ten of those years I had cared for my mother–in–law while she lay bedridden, doing the work that helped him climb from a modest community–college instructor to a celebrated professor at a prestigious university.
Everyone called me the perfect wife the backbone of the Price family.
On her deathbed she took my hand and, with a voice reduced to a whisper, said, “Thank you, Evie. For everything. We couldn’t have done it without you.”
11
Declan held me close, his gratitude warm and sincere. “Evie, you’ve worked so hard. I promise I’ll make it up to you.
I believed him. I thought the worst was over and the good part of our life was finally beginning
But before his mother’s body was even cold, he handed me divorce papers and stood arm–in–arm with my childhood best friend,
Sierra Sanchez.
“Evelyn Hart,” he said, voice flat, “I put up with you for twenty years. I’m finally tree.”
The only person I’ve ever loved is Sisi.”
I left with nothing. Homeless and stunned, I drifted the streets until a car accident erased whatever was left of my broken life.
When I opened my eyes again, I was twenty years in the past–sitting in the matchmaking agency, across the table from Declan at our first blind date.
Sharon Anderson, the matchmaker, was in full sales mode. “This young man is a hidden gem Whoever marries him is set for life!”
honest, devoted, and a real catch.
I looked at the polite, earnest man opposite me, at the careful way he adjusted his gold–rimmed glasses, at the genuine light in his
Eyes.
I smiled. Then I took the profile sheet in my hand and dropped it into the trash can.
“Sorry, I don’t think we’re a good fit,” I said.
Declan’s smile froze. He pushed up his glasses, his tone still gentle. “Miss Hart, did I say something that gave you the wrong impression? We could take it slow- get to know each other.”
Mrs. Anderson panicked and reached for my hand. “Oh, Evie, don’t be rash! A catch like Professor Price doesn’t come along every day. You’d be crazy to let him get away.”
I pulled my hand back and met Declan’s gaze.
In my previous timeline his refined, scholarly charm had fooled me for a lifetime.
I had thought his family’s poverty was only temporary and believed his character to be beyond reproach.
I had emptied my savings to support him, given up the chance to study at the Rhode Island School of Design, stayed in that small town, run the household, schmoozed his superiors smoothed the way to his success.
And how did it end? The moment he made it big, he kicked me aside like a steppingstone,
I let a small, controlled smile touch my lips. “Professor Price, it’s not a misunderstanding. You’re wonderful good enough for you.”
I stood, grabbed my purse, and headed for the door.
I’m the one who isn’t
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“Evie!” Declan’s hand shot out and caught my wrist.
I turned and looked at him, cold. He seemed to notice his mistake and loosened his grip. “Miss Hart, I just think it’s a shame. I promised my mother I’d find someone caring and supportive like you.”
“Then keep looking,” I said, wrenching my arm free. “Professor Price, don’t follow me. It’s not a good look.”
I walked out of the noisy café without glancing back. The early–summer wind brushed my face, warm and forgiving. For the first time in years I breathed and felt something like relief.
Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe I could start over.
My phone buzzed. Sisi.
I swiped to answer and heard her soft, worried voice. “Evie, how did it go? Mrs. Anderson said Professor Price is amazing. him?”
Did
you meet
I leaned against a sycamore and watched dappled sunlight move across the sidewalk. I let out a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah. I met him.”
“That’s great! So what’s he like? Is he really as amazing as Mrs. Anderson said?”
“He’s a catch,” I said lightly.
Relief flooded through Sisi’s voice. “I knew it! Evie, you have to go for this. A good man–well, that’s everything for a woman. Don’t worry, once you two are married I’ll treat him like a brother.”
She had said the same thing in my last life.
While I was stretched thin caring for his mother, she wore the dresses I bought and kept him company.
When I begged for funding for his research, she played the charming confidante at conferences.
In the end she linked arms with my husband and told me, “Evie, I’m sorry. Love is something you can’t control.”
I closed my eyes and pushed down the hot, stinging betrayal.
“Sisi,” I said, my voice calm, “if you think he’s so great, why don’t you go for him?”
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end, and the line went quiet,
