ELIJAH’S POV
I stared at Laura across the bar, my jaw tightening as the air between us stretched thin.
The strange lady was still beside me, practically glued to my side like some desperate leech. Her perfume was too sweet, her lips too red, her intentions obvious. They seemed to know each other, the way Laura's eyes glared at her.
But my eyes were on Laura.
My wife.
She stood at the entrance, her hair messy from the hospital, her eyes glassy from crying—but damn it, she was still the most beautiful thing in the room.
And she was still wearing my ring.
“Elijah,” she whispered again, her voice low but trembling. “You're with Irene?”
Irene shifted beside me, fingers brushing my sleeve. “Ignore her,” she whispered, lips too close to my ear. “Let her cry to John Deere. That’s what she
