He promised he’d be home an hour ago.

I’m getting him a cell phone tomorrow.

The landline rings, and I jump from the terrace into the kitchen to answer it. “Hello?”

“Penny, I’m coming home now.”

“What are you doing? I thought you were going for groceries.”

“There was . . . another errand I had to run.” His voice has a stiffness to it.

“You’re hiding something.” I can’t keep the anger from my voice. “We have to tell each other the truth or—”

“Penny. I’m hiding nothing. I’ll tell you about it as soon as I’m home, but not over the phone. Okay?” The authority, the sureness in his voice calms my nerves.

“Okay.”

He says more gently, “I’ll be home in ten. Is anyone else there yet?”

“Layla and Amisha are late. Blake isn’t off work for another hour. I’ll text the girls to wait.”

“Tell them I need another hour.”

“I thought you said ten minutes?”

“Tell them one hour,” he says, unexpectedly, almost nervously.

“Fine, bossy pants.”

He groans an almost-laugh. I like the sound, a lighter sound, a new kind of sound he started making in the last two days, now that things have calmed down. Now that we’re together and the secrets are all out. Or at least I think they are. Now that I’ve told Blake my husband is here to stay.

I don’t think I can handle the stress of waiting to find out what he’s hiding. “Get home soon.”

“I love you,” he reassures me. “I’ll see you in ten minutes. Go chop vegetables until I get back. I still have to make the salad.”

I laugh. “I’m terrible at chopping. It’ll take forever.”

“I know. That’s the point.” He hangs up.

I don’t get much chopping done. True to his word, he’s home in seven minutes.

He’s wearing new clothes, not the designer kind I bought him. They’re casual clothes, a new T-shirt, a new pair of jeans that fit nice and snug in all the right places. He’s still wearing flip-flops, but they’re leather and rubber now instead of plastic and foam.

“You went shopping?”

He kisses me but looks away abruptly to put two shopping bags on the couch. “Yeah.”

“What else did you buy?”

His hands move too quickly, anxious. “I got something for you.”

“You bought me something?” I’m giddy hearing him say that. I love when he cooks for me, which he likes doing. Him getting me something while shopping—something he hates doing—is a whole other level. A new surge of warmth fills my chest.

He clears his throat. “I noticed you stopped wearing your ring.”

I look at my bare left hand. “It’s too extravagant.”

“That’s what I thought. But you should still have a ring, so . . .” He pulls a ring box out of the bag and opens it. “I got you one to match mine.” He slips a gold and silver band, identical to his but my size, around my finger.

I’m still stuck on the fact he got me a gift. Let alone a wedding band. “Wow.”

He twists the band. “Is it okay?”

I can’t stop smiling. “I love it.”

“Now we have to make sure Blake didn’t file those divorce papers.”

“Divorce papers?”

“Didn’t he give them to you to sign? He had me sign them as soon as the police finished questioning me.”

My mouth gapes and disappointment blocks my thoughts. “You signed divorce papers?”

He brushes my shoulders. “Only because I thought you wanted me to.”

“I never signed divorce papers.”

“Good.” He smiles gently and brushes my cheek. “Then we’re still married.”

He hugs me and my breathing returns to normal. I didn’t realize how much reassurance I was getting from us being married. Things have been unorthodox, but I can’t imagine losing him now. Ever. “Thank you for my ring.”

He kisses the top of my head. “You’re welcome.”

Lunch on the terrace with my friends and my brother is interesting. There are awkward silences, like when Amisha tries to ask Logan what he does for a living and he says, “Stalking.” I thought her eyes were going to bug out.

I take it as the perfect opportunity for my new announcement. “He’s going to have a new job soon.”

“I am?” He glares at me with the stern expression that now makes me smile but scares everyone else.

“Yes, you are. And you too, Blake. It’s for both of you.” I clear my throat. “I’ve been very busy this week with a new, exciting idea of mine, and I’m ready to share it with all of you.”

“Are you going to finally tell me what you’re using the money for?” Blake asks sarcastically. He agreed to turn over control of my trust fund to me. He agreed because I promised him I’d be using it for a charitable venture, not to give to Logan.

Which is halfway true. It’s still a gift to Logan.

“He gave you the money and you didn’t tell me?” Logan’s stern expression turns glacial.

“Shut up, guys. She’s telling you now,” Layla defends me.

“Thank you.” I sit forward, and I have to focus on the ocean for a moment while I gather the nerve. “It’s been a rough couple of weeks, or few months rather.” I glance at my brother. “Or in some cases a really hard life.” I glance at Logan.

They both give me skeptical stares, but I keep talking. “I decided, thanks to someone’s advice, that I should do something about it. And I decided that since the women in our lives, in this world, need more support than they’re getting, I should help.”

I pause, not sure suddenly how everyone is going to take this, if Logan will like it.

“Go ahead.” He sits forward and nods, giving me courage.

“I’m using the money to open a women’s shelter. And not just any women’s shelter. A comfortable place where women want to go, not some underfunded, substandard facility . It’s going to be a safe place to go when they get in trouble. A safe place for them to stay for as long as they need and bring their children. With lots of support and lots of—”

“How are you going to do this, Penny?” My brother, ever the optimist. “That’s a lot of work you know nothing about.” I remind myself that he’s only like this because he worries for me.

“I’m going to have help. I’ve done nothing but ask for help all week.” I dismiss him, and look back at Logan. “I’m going to call it the Louisa Kane House.”

He gulps and the sternness in his eyes melts into an expression that’s brand new. One I only saw for the first time two days ago. “Thank you.”

I’m dreading now that I chose to do this in front of the others. This is a private moment for us, and I want to empty the room so I can hug him until he’s had his fill of me.

“Who’s Louisa Kane?” Amisha asks.

Logan answers, his voice low and soft. “My sister.”

Amisha gasps. “Penny, that’s amazing.”

I nod. “It is. And Logan’s going to help me.”

Layla gets out of her chair and runs to hug me. “Can I help?”

Amisha joins her. “And me!”

Their support and offer to help makes this new idea of mine suddenly a reality. I’m really doing this. I’m really going to start a charity, and the satisfaction I feel, the pleasure in doing something about all this grief, means as much to me as it does to Logan. I no longer feel powerless but powerful—like I could change the world if I choose.

And I have Logan to thank for it. For all of it.

I meet his eyes, and it’s all there—the sadness for the past, the joy in the present . . . the love. This house, this charity will be a way to tell his sister’s story. It will allow him to do something with all of his grief too. And we can do it together.

Like a lifetime of so many other things.

His need for vengeance is at an end, but I will forever be grateful he sought me out to find it.