It wasn’t difficult finding him; he still lived in the house they had once shared.
She pressed the doorbell. He’d changed the simple chimes that had announced visitors to something much more elaborate.
Was this a good idea? After all, it was more than two years since they’d seen each other.
“Jacob, what don’t you understand about it’s over?” Peter growled as he threw open the door.
“Who’s Jacob, Peter?”
His jaw dropped and his eyes widened. “Em?” A flush covered his face.
“Yes. You don’t appear happy to see me.”
“Two years, Em, and not one word! Didn’t I deserve better than that?”
“But I wrote you at least a dozen letters!” Most of them hadn’t been more than a few lines—the flowery prose of love letters no longer came easily to her pen. It was the stark, unvarnished facts in report
