Nolan’s voice floated down the stairs.
I looked up fast, swiped the tears away, and shoved the test under a throw pillow just as he came into the room buttoning the cuff of his navy dress shirt.
He looked exactly like the man I had once believed life would always reward. Tall, broad-shouldered, clean-cut in that polished Chicago way that made strangers trust him instantly. Dark hair, gray eyes, expensive watch, measured smile. At thirty-six, Nolan Pierce looked like money, confidence, and certainty wrapped into one man. He had the kind of face hospital boards liked to photograph and investors liked to shake hands with.
He stopped short when he saw me.
“What happened?”
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