PART 2

The man inside the SUV looked nothing like the strangers I had spent the evening avoiding.

He was perhaps in his early forties, dressed in a dark wool coat, with silver beginning at his temples. His face was composed, but not cold. A faint crease between his brows suggested he had been carrying worry long before he found me on that road.

For several seconds, neither of us spoke.

Then his gaze moved from my tear-streaked face to the suitcase beside me.

“You’re Madeline Hart,” he said.

My breath caught.

I took one step backward.

The road behind me was empty, the nearest streetlamp flickering weakly above the sidewalk. The SUV’s engine was still running, its headlights casting a pale path across the pavement.

“How do you know my name?”

His expression changed immediately. He seemed to realize how alarming that sounded.

“I’m sorry. That was a poor way to begin.” He reached toward the dashboard, switched on the interior light, and lifted both hands where I could see them. “My name is Nathaniel Pierce. I’m not here to harm you.”

I stared at him.

The name meant nothing to me.

“Then how do you know who I am?”

He glanced toward the papers sticking out of my open handbag. One corner had folded over, revealing the name printed on the divorce documents.

I followed his gaze.

The explanation was simple enough, but I didn’t feel reassured.

“You were crying beside a busy road,” he continued. “You looked faint. I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“I’m fine.”

It was an automatic answer, the same one I had given doctors, neighbors, and Ryan whenever they asked how I was coping with another failed pregnancy.

Nathaniel’s eyes rested briefly on my face.

“No, you’re not.”

The words were quiet. They should have angered me.

Instead, they nearly broke the last thread holding me together.

I turned away from the SUV and wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand. My palm trembled. The cold had settled into my fingers, and a dull ache had begun low in my abdomen.

I pressed my hand against my coat.

Nathaniel noticed.

“Are you injured?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Then please sit down before you fall.”

“I said I’m fine.”

A long silence stretched between us.

The truth was that my legs were shaking so badly I could hardly remain standing. I had walked for more than an hour with no destination, dragging the suitcase behind me until the wheels caught on a cracked section of pavement. I had not eaten since breakfast. At the doctor’s office, I had been too overwhelmed to finish the sandwich I’d bought afterward. Then I had gone home to find my life packed into one suitcase and placed outside like unwanted belongings.

Nathaniel opened the passenger door.

“There’s a hotel three minutes from here,” he said. “I can drive you there, or I can call a taxi and wait until it arrives. You choose.”

I looked at him suspiciously.

“You don’t have to wait.”

“I know.”

“Why would you?”

His jaw tightened slightly.

“Because my sister once stood on a roadside with a suitcase, and most people drove past her.”

Something in his voice made me look at him again.

He wasn’t asking for sympathy. If anything, he seemed uncomfortable that he had revealed even that much.

I glanced down the empty road.

The sensible thing was to call a taxi myself.

But my phone battery had died two hours ago. My bank card was in my purse, along with enough cash for perhaps one night at a cheap motel. The closest place I knew was nearly four miles away, and the February wind had sharpened into something that cut through my coat.

Most importantly, I was pregnant.

The word moved through me with a strange mixture of wonder and fear.

Pregnant.

I placed one hand over my stomach.

“Just the hotel,” I said at last. “And I’ll sit in the back.”

Nathaniel nodded as if that was perfectly reasonable.

He stepped out and opened the rear passenger door. Before reaching for my suitcase, he paused.

“May I?”

I hesitated, then let go of the handle.

He lifted it into the trunk with ease. The action was ordinary, almost absurdly ordinary, but it brought tears to my eyes again.

For eleven years, I had shared a home with a man who treated every need of mine as an inconvenience. Yet this stranger asked permission before touching a suitcase.

I climbed into the back seat.

The leather was warm. A bottle of water sat in the cup holder beside me.

Nathaniel got behind the wheel, adjusted the mirror, and waited until I had fastened my seat belt before pulling away.

For the first few minutes, neither of us spoke.

The city drifted past the windows in blurred patches of amber and gray. People walked beneath umbrellas. Couples stepped out of restaurants carrying paper bags. A father held a little girl’s mittened hand as they crossed the street.

I looked away.

Nathaniel kept his eyes on the road.

“Do you want me to take you to a hospital?” he asked.

“No.”

“Your doctor?”

“No.”

“Then the hotel.”

“Yes.”

He didn’t question me further.

That restraint was more unsettling than curiosity would have been.

My fingers tightened around the bottle of water. I unscrewed the cap and took a small sip.

“Thank you,” I said.

“You’re welcome.”

“Mr. Pierce—”

“Nathaniel is fine.”

“Nathaniel, I need you to understand that I’m not expecting anything from you.”

“I haven’t assumed that you are.”

“I don’t need charity.”

“I’m not offering charity.”

“What are you offering?”

He considered the question.

“A ride. A room for the night if the hotel requires a card. Breakfast in the morning. After that, you can decide what you need.”

I watched his reflection in the mirror.

“And what do you get?”

“Nothing.”

“No one does something for nothing.”

His mouth curved faintly, though there was no humor in it.

“Perhaps I’m trying to prove that belief wrong.”

The hotel was small, clean, and tucked behind a row of office buildings. Nathaniel parked beneath the covered entrance and came around to open my door.

I stepped out before he could help me.

The receptionist looked at us with polite curiosity. Nathaniel approached the desk while I stood several feet away, clutching my handbag against my chest.

“One room for Ms. Hart,” he said. “For three nights.”

I moved toward him.

“One night.”

He looked over his shoulder.

“One night,” I repeated.

“Three nights will give you time to—”

“One.”

He studied my face and then nodded.

The receptionist asked for identification and a payment card. My fingers were still numb from the cold as I searched through my wallet.

Before I could hand anything over, Nathaniel placed his card on the counter.

I turned to him sharply.

“I can pay.”

“I’m sure you can.”

“Then let me.”

“Of course.”

He withdrew his card, and I placed mine on the counter instead.

The receptionist processed the payment. It left me with less than two hundred dollars, but I refused to calculate how many meals that represented.