stopped at a small bakery on Chicago’s North Side, expecting nothing more than a quick coffee.
Instead, he found himself staring at a scene he couldn’t forget.
Standing at the register was his ex-wife, Emma Parker.
She hadn’t noticed him.
Her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail.
Her clothes were modest.
The confidence she once carried at charity galas and business events had been replaced by visible exhaustion.
Beside her stood two identical little boys.
One gazed longingly at a tray of cinnamon rolls.
The other clutched a
