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At 12:07 in the morning, three weeks after Luke Bennett carried two duffel bags out of our condo to move in with the girl he had loved in high school, he started hammering on my front door. My wedding dress was still hanging in the hall closet when his voice cracked through the wood. “Hannah, she’s pregnant, and the baby isn’t mine.” I turned the deadbolt, called his sister, and decided that whatever proof he had, he would never hand it to me inside my home.
Part 1 Luke hit the door again. Not hard enough to damage it, but hard enough that the framed photograph on the wall beside me...
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