I should have seen it coming. But after Florida, something shifted, and I was so excited to head to Europe with Logan, I didn’t think.

The hard part was over. I’d said goodbye to Rhenn. I’d moved on. That’s not to say his memory didn’t linger. I’d catch glimpses of him around corners when I’d tread on familiar ground, places we’d visited. But it didn’t hurt. It felt more like a shimmer. Warm. Reassuring. A light breeze against my skin.

The first five days we spent in England, picnicking on the moors north of London and exploring tiny towns where nobody recognized us. Nights, we hunkered down in our hotel in the city, sampling fancy cheese and watching British sitcoms.

I was too caught up to see the clouds roll in. Too happy to feel the first droplets of rain. And by the time I noticed, I was down in it, lost in the storm. Adrift in a sea of depression.

It started ten days ago when we landed in France. Paris. Always Paris.

Of course, Logan didn’t understand. And I couldn’t explain. I tried to find the words, failing miserably. So I was left to watch the light in his eyes grow dimmer every time I flinched at his touch.

But he never sought distance.

Even now, he was here, beside me in bed, our joined hands spanning the ocean between us.

Scooting closer, my leg coiled around his, and I pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

I’ll fix this.

As if he could hear my unspoken vow, he drew me into his arms, his breath fanning the hair on the crown of my head. But he didn’t take it any further, thank God, because I couldn’t. Not yet.

As soon as the first rays of light spilled onto the carpet, I crawled out of bed.

“What?” Logan said groggily, pushing up to peer at me through heavy lids. His gaze fell to the sundress balled in my fist. “Where are you going?”

A stab of guilt pierced my heart, and I tried a smile. But it felt wrong on my face. “I can’t sleep. I’m going for a walk.”

Roughing a hand through his hair, he nodded, looking disoriented. “I’ll go with you.”

“No. I’m good.”

Cocking his head to the side, concern flashed in his pale blue gaze, quickly followed by irritation. Then the frost came, tiny cracks in the arctic pools of his eyes. He sighed heavily and dropped back onto his pillow. “Whatever, princess.”

An explanation coiled around my tongue. But it felt like a betrayal, so I pushed it down and stepped into my dress. By the time I turned to find my shoes, he was on his side with his back to me.

I’ll fix this.

I knew I could. But first I had to go deeper. Farther back. To the place beyond the grief for what I’d lost all those years ago.

I ducked out of the hotel, evading a group of paparazzi huddled by the valet station, drinking coffee and eating croissants, cameras dangling from the straps around their necks. Once I was safely across the street, I put my head down and walked the familiar path. At least I hoped it was familiar, and I was moving in the right direction. Everything about the time I’d spent here was a blur. But then I rounded the corner and caught a glimpse of the cross atop the majestic old church.

Moments later, with my heart pounding a staccato beat, I climbed the concrete steps and pulled open the heavy door. Morning light poured through the stained-glass windows lining the high walls, bathing the chapel in a warm glow. Nothing had changed. And yet, everything had. My hand went to my stomach. But unlike the last time I was here, there was no tiny bump.

“Puis je t’aider?”

Torn from my thoughts, I blinked at the priest. He was young, mid-thirties, with a mop of black hair and sparkling brown eyes. Clasping his hands in front of him, he waited patiently for my answer.

“Uh … Je ne … Je ne … parle pas français.” Stammering through my reply, I hoped I hadn’t just asked where the nearest bathroom was.

“English, then?” He raised his brows in question and, when I nodded, he smiled. “How can I help you?”

My pulse kicked up, and I looked around, feeling lost and out of place. “I … I don’t know.”

He cocked his head, quiet concern painting his features. “That is okay. Why are you here today?”

“I … I want to light a candle for …” My fingers balled into a fist over my stomach. “My baby.”

Understanding softened his gaze. “Certainly. Would you like to say a prayer first?”

I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “Yes. Thank you.”

On wobbly legs, I followed him to a pew in the back. When he stepped aside so I could slide in, my mother’s voice scratched the inside of my brain. Gripping the pew for balance, I did my best to genuflect, but with my hip, I couldn’t manage more than a slight bend.

Once I’d settled on the bench, the priest took his place at my side and immediately dropped to his knees on the padded ledge in front of the pew.

“Oh … sorry,” I mumbled, easing down next to him.

“You are fine.” A serene smile curved his lips. “Would you like to pray the rosary?”

My stomach cratered. “I don’t … I didn’t …” Gently, he took my hand and pressed the crystal beads into my palm. I nodded. “Thank you.”

Finding the crucifix with my thumb, I gazed up at the words painted on the high wall above the alter.

Venite Ad Me Omnes … Come To Me Everyone

“What is your child’s name?” the priest asked.

A tear slid down my cheek, and I bowed my head. “He didn’t have one.”