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He hauled in an armful of wood.
And we locked eyes.
That’s how I knew. His eyes may have been blue in that life instead of brown, and his face and body may have looked like they belonged to a completely different man, but it was David. That was his soul looking out at me. And my God, the way he looked at me—
It was like getting slammed to the ground by an avalanche.
No, not an avalanche. That would have been too easy—I would have been out of my misery far too soon. This was more like being buried alive in slow motion, one shovelful of dirt at a time, the weight of it slowly crushing me to death. Because there, standing in the doorway, looking at me in a way I never thought anyone in my life would ever look at me, was a man who was not my husband and who I knew my husband would kill
