Free Broken Angels by Anne Hope

blasted from his throat. “I know you want answers. So do I. But letting this Voula character fill your head with delusions isn’t going to do anyone any good. Sometimes we just have to accept things for what they are and move on.”
    Fire flashed in her eyes, deepened them to a glittering shade of rust. “The way you did when our marriage fell apart?”
    The blade fell, slashing through him, cutting him deep. He thought of all the nights he’d lain awake aching for her, all the times he’d rushed home after landing an account to share the news with her only to find she wasn’t there, all the regrets that plagued him even as he told himself he’d had no choice.
    He took in the condemnation twisting her features, the pain no amount of resentment could mask, and spoke the first honest words he’d spoken to her in years. “Who says I moved on?”

Chapter Seven
    Who says I moved on?
    Those words had bounced inside Rebecca’s head all evening. Like nervous grasshoppers, they whizzed through her, stopping only long enough to tie knots in every organ they encountered along the way.
    What had he meant by that?
    She’d never gotten a chance to ask him. Will had chosen that moment to start fussing, and Zach had rushed off, leaving her with nothing but unvoiced questions and a funny feeling festering in the pit of her stomach.
    Now, hours later, as she changed into her pajamas and prepared for bed, she still couldn’t quell the jittery excitement his statement had elicited. She’d always believed he’d walked away from their marriage without as much as a backward glance. While she’d been busy trying to reassemble the broken pieces of her heart, he’d gone on with his life with the same cool self-possession for which he was renowned. While she’d lain in bed at night, her eyes painfully dry, her cheeks stinging from all the tears she’d shed, she’d imagined him with some other woman. One who could give him everything he wanted, be everything he needed.
    Not once since the breakup had he called or dropped by for a visit, so she’d naturally assumed he’d been glad to wash his hands of her. Even the divorce had been handled through a lawyer Liam had recommended, with as little personal contact as possible.
    She applied her face cream, checking—as she always did—for the telltale sign of wrinkles. She was only thirty-four, young by anyone’s standard, but she still couldn’t help but feel time evaporating around her. Her youth was slipping away, gently, imperceptibly. One day she’d look in the mirror at a face she barely recognized and ask herself what she’d accomplished. Her failures would snarl at her with vivid clarity—no husband, no children, just loneliness and a gaping emptiness that simply couldn’t be filled.
    It seemed unfair that Lindsay—who had everything to live for—no longer existed, while Rebecca continued to forge ahead, building nothing. Nothing that lasted.
    Maybe this was her chance to change that.
    The stuffed animal she’d sewn sat on the nightstand, staring at her with bulging eyes. She went to it, gathered it in her arms and cradled it as if it were a baby. Maybe if she practiced, one of these days she’d be able to hold Will, hug Kristen or take Noah’s hand in hers without experiencing that plummeting sensation in her abdomen.
    With a sigh, she wandered into the darkened corridor and walked to Kristen’s room. Across the hall, Will’s door stood closed. From behind the thick wooden divider Zach’s presence called to her, connected with that secret corner of her being that was still intimately aware of his every move, his every breath.
    Who says I moved on?
    Warmth inundated her, made her pulse trip and her heart crash.
    She shook her head at her stupidity and swallowed a snort. Decisively, she pushed open Kristen’s door and entered. A nightlight cast a thin, shivering glow through the room. The curtains were parted and moon-silvered shadows danced on the walls. Beyond