Page 67 of Against All Odds

Or the way he’d sigh when we hosted his friends.

“You could’ve made something a little fancier,” he said, glancing at the cheese gougères I’d spent hours perfecting. “Sean’s wife always makes these amazing hors d'oeuvres.”

After the miscarriages, it got worse.

“I just think you’re too wound up, Sable. Maybe if you relaxed more, you won’t have another miscarriage,” he said after I lost our first baby when I was eleven weeks pregnant.

The doctor was kind and considerate and said these things happen, especially since I was in my mid-thirties.

I lost my babies. I lost my husband. Now, I’d finally lost my dignity, thanks to Heath.

Wearily, I started the engine and drove home. The roads were dark and empty.

When I stepped inside my little cottage, it felt cold and lonely. I set the groceries on the kitchen counter, putthem away mechanically, and poured myself a glass of wine.

I sat at the dining table, staring at the blank notebook I kept there for making to-do lists.

I didn’t want to do this anymore. The gossip, the whispers, the judgment—it had been a constant whine in the background of my life for as long as I could remember. I’d thought I could rise above it. That owning the Wildflower, carving out my little piece of Aspen, would prove them all wrong.

But I was the one who had been proven wrong when I was revealed as a bona fide failure.

I picked up a pen and opened the notebook to a fresh page.

If I was lucky, I had another thirty to forty years of my life left. Years to build something better somewhere else because staying here wasn’t living. Hell, it was barely surviving. I wanted more than that.

I wrote a plan—sell the Wildflower, find a new town, and start fresh.

I started by making a list of people I could approach about selling the Wildflower if Ben turned me down. Then I made another list—a list of what I wanted in a place to live.

I wanted somewhere with seasons—a place where it snowed in the winter, turned hot in the summer, blossomed in the spring, and painted the world in fiery reds and golds in the fall. I wanted a small town, but not too small—a place with charm and community but also with the amenities of a big city, such as museums, restaurants,and parks…a place where life felt rich and full, even in the quiet moments, and gossip was not the favorite pastime.

As the words filled the page, a sense of calm settled over me.

It was like they said, the best revenge was living a good life. I’d do that in a new city.

I was full of excitement as I got ready for bed. But once I lay in the dark, staring up at the ceiling, I knew that I didn’treallybelieve that my future would be better than my present or my past. I had a sinking feeling that this was my lot in life. Despair kept me awake, and when I finally slept, nightmares of Heath screaming at me plagued me.

I woke up the next day feeling hungover, even though I’d only had a glass of wine the night before. My body felt heavy like it was fighting against the very idea of getting out of bed. But I persevered. I showered, dressed, and made myself look halfway presentable, even though the person staring back at me in the mirror looked like a stranger—hollow-eyed and weary.

I kept busy during the lunch hour. A large group of tourists had come in, which was a blessing. They kept us on our toes, and my revenue for the day looked up. After the lunch crowd left, the bar was quiet except for the music and faint noises as Casey tidied up.

Ben came a few hours after lunch. He sat at the bar and asked for a cup of coffee.

When I slid it in front of him, black like tar, the way he liked it, he gave me a once over. “You look like youdidn’t sleep a wink last night. I think the look you’re sporting is called raccoon eyes.”

“Thanks.” I scanned the Excel sheet that listed our expenses, feeling the weight on my shoulders grow heavy. “That's just what a woman wants to hear first thing in the afternoon.”

He chuckled softly. “I call it like I see it.”

I leaned against the counter, my laptop between us. “Will you buy the Wildflower from me? I’ll give you a good deal. I’ll…ah…take a loss from what I paid.”

That wiped the smile off his face. He set his coffee down, his brows knitting together. “You want to sell? Already?”

I nodded, avoiding his eyes. “I’m tired, Ben, worn out. I think it’s time for me to leave Aspen.”

He studied me. “And where would you go?”

“I don’t know yet,” I admitted. “But I have a list of places that I’m considering. I just want to start over without all the Aspen baggage.”

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