When new mother, Eva, returns home from the hospital, she expects comfort, safety, and the nursery she built with love. What she finds instead shatters everything. As secrets unravel and betrayal cuts deep, Eva must decide how far she’s willing to go to protect the one thing they’ll never take from her.
Matthew first walked into the library on a rainy Tuesday afternoon.
I was shelving returns, the scent of damp paper lingering in the air, when he leaned against the counter with that effortless charm that seemed made for old books and quiet smiles.
He asked if I had a recommendation for a rainy-day read. I handed him Hemingway’s “A Moveable Feast.”
He came back three days later to tell me he’d finished it, and that I had exquisite taste.
“Evangeline,” he’d said. “That was…
delicious. More recommendations, please!”
“Eva,” I said, correcting him. “Only my grandparents call me Evangeline.”
Matthew returned often after that.
He always had a smile on his face, and always lingered a little longer than necessary. He started learning my schedule, showing up on my late shifts with a cup of tea just how I liked it: strong, with a splash of oat milk and no sugar.
He’d lean against the counter while I scanned in returns, chatting about his favorite sci-fi authors and how the smell of books reminded him of his grandmother’s attic.
“Tell me something real about you, Eva,” he said once, watching me alphabetize a row of paperbacks.
“Something real?” I repeated, laughing and brushing my hair behind my ear. “Okay…
How about… I still have my childhood teddy bear, and he sleeps on my bed. It’s embarrassing, and I have no clue why I just told you this.”
“That’s not embarrassing,” he said, smiling.
“That’s adorable.”
Little moments like that ended up building into more. Matthew would walk me home in the rain, kiss my forehead before saying goodbye, and sometimes he’d bring me sunflowers to brighten up my living room. We made a habit of Friday nights on my tiny couch, watching documentaries and making up alternate endings to indie movies.
Within weeks, we were inseparable.
Within six months, Matthew proposed with a secondhand ring tucked into the pages of a book he knew I loved.
I said yes, not just because I was 32 and ready for something lasting, but because when he looked at me, I felt chosen in a way that didn’t come with conditions.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
Tap READ MORE to discover the rest 🔎👇
