Love’s Last Light

The ultrasound jelly was still cold on my belly when I opened a local mom's forum. A new post caught my eye. In the photo, a woman held a rosy-cheeked toddler, flashing a peace sign. But it was the man cooking in the background that froze my blood.

Behind his ear was a familiar, faded tattoo—my initials. The sweater he wore was the same cable-knit pullover I spent weeks knitting for my husband, Dominic.

At home, the mansion was silent. The butler brought soup, his expression polite. "Mr. Dominic is working late again. He said not to wait up, ma'am."