MY story, she’d called it. I smiled and shook my head. Mm, my little bird with her very own version of events … How charming. Was I supposed to feel threatened? The poor girl had no leverage. She’d written only one chapter of her supposed story. It recounted our appearance on the Denver Buzz, her anxiety about the proposal, and our argument when she caught me house-shopping. I skimmed the text, remembering, until her words stopped me. The smile died on my lips. My desire to carry a child, Hannah had written, could be described as less than zero. “The hell?” I mumbled. I tracked back and reread. Holy shit. Matt wanted kids? Again, I reread the chapter. And again. I needed more, but there wasn’t more. I clicked on her Word document and forced a page break. I stared at the new page, my mind tossing and turning.
