The first time I saw my ex-wife after our divorce, she was standing beside a county highway with two babies strapped to her chest.
My fiancée laughed.
I forgot how to breathe.
“Grant, slow down.”
Serena leaned across the center console of my Range Rover, nearly spilling the iced coffee in her hand.
“Seriously. Look.”
We were driving back from one of my development sites outside Raleigh. It was the kind of August afternoon when North Carolina seemed to melt under the sun. Heat shimmered above the asphalt, and even with the air-conditioning blasting, I could feel sweat beneath my collar.
I almost ignored her.
