Chapter 2

The memory of my grandmother' s hand in mine was still vivid. It was frail, the skin thin as paper, but her grip was insistent.

"Ethan," she had whispered, her voice raspy from the illness that was stealing her away. "Promise me. Promise me you'll take care of yourself. And take care of Chloe. She' s a good girl."

"I promise, Grandma," I' d said, my throat tight with unshed tears. "I'll take care of her. We'll be happy."

She had smiled, a faint, tired curve of her lips, and then she was gone.

After the funeral, after the quiet emptiness of her apartment settled around me, I pulled out my phone. My fingers fumbled as I texted Chloe.

Grandma passed away this morning.

I waited, staring at the screen, needing her. Needing my wife.

Her reply came almost an hour later.

Oh, Ethan. I'm so sorry. I know how much you loved her. She was a wonderful woman. Thinking of you.

It was empathetic. It was what a person should say. But it was distant. There was no "I wish I could be there," no "Call me if you need anything." Just a perfectly crafted, sterile message of condolence.

A follow-up text arrived a moment later.

I have back-to-back meetings with the league commissioners all week. It's a huge deal. I can't get away. I' m so sorry, my love.

Seven years. Seven years we had been separated by an ocean. I was in England, finishing my doctorate and, for the last two years, taking care of Grandma after her diagnosis. Chloe was in the US, building her empire, becoming one of the most powerful sports agents in the country. We had agreed to it. It was a sacrifice for our future.

Her calls and texts had become less frequent over the last few years. The time difference was always a convenient excuse. Her work was demanding, I knew that. I had always been her biggest supporter. I told myself the distance was just a temporary ache, a prelude to a lifetime together.

Her grandmother had died three years ago. I had flown back for a week, holding Chloe while she cried, managing her family, being the supportive husband she needed. She hadn't been able to do the same for me.

With Grandma gone, my last tether to England was cut. I spent a week handling her estate, my grief a constant, heavy weight. In that quiet solitude, a single, powerful thought took root: I'm going home.

Home to Chloe.

I booked a one-way ticket. I didn' t tell her. After seven years of scheduled calls and planned visits, I wanted to do something spontaneous. I wanted to just show up, to see the surprise and joy on her face, to hold her and never let go. I imagined knocking on the door of our house, the one we bought together right after we got married, the one filled with all our pre-England memories.

I wanted to erase the seven years of distance in a single moment.