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I walk from table to table along with my classroom assistant, Jenn, and make sure the children are all following directions. It’s good to be here. It takes my mind off how absolutely quiet things are at home now that Wes is gone. I miss his companionship, but I know it’s unfair of me to ask him to come back just because I’m lonely.

Peyton, the most inquisitive four-year-old I’ve ever met and the son of my longtime best friend, raises his hand. “Mrs. Kraft, can I make my house green?”

I smile. “Of course you can. It’s your house. Any color you want, remember?”

Peyton’s little strawberry-blond head instantly whips toward the little dark-haired girl, Brice, sitting beside him, and he fires an “I told you so” look at her before going back to work on the project before him.

I chuckle as I continue helping the children until it’s time to clean up and get ready for their parents to come.

One by one my little distractions leave me to go on to their happy homes, until it’s just Peyton and me left in the classroom. It’s not unusual for him to be the last to be picked up. Sam always likes to hang out and chat with me a bit when she picks him up, so she always comes last so she’s not monopolizing my time when the other parents come.

I pull out the tiny chair next to his and sit down beside Peyton while he plays with a superhero action figure, making it soar through the air, accompanied by matching sound effects.

“Who do you have here?” I ask, leaning over to get a better look at the red-caped crusader in his tiny hand.

“Superman!” he replies instantly with so much enthusiasm that it’s infectious, causing me to smile.

“He’s always been my favorite,” I whisper like it’s a big secret.

“Mine too,” he answers and looks up at me with hazel eyes. “He reminds me of Daddy. The guys in the army call him Superman because he’s so strong and can lift big weights.”

The way he looks up to his dad, idolizing him, instantly reminds me of Jared and the way he was with his father. It’s funny how the little things—something so minute—can spark a memory of someone you miss so much.

“I’m so sorry, London.” My gaze snaps in the direction of the doorway as Sam walks through the door with a baby on her hip.

Her face is red—a stark contrast to her pale blond hair—and the expression on her face tells me she’s stressed to no end. I feel for her because I don’t know how she manages to keep things together, being on her own with two kids while her husband is thousands of miles away, fighting for our country on foreign soil.

Sam plops down next to me in the tiny chair and sets ten-month-old Brody on the carpeted floor beside her, giving him her car keys for entertainment before instructing Peyton to play with his brother for a little while so she can chat with me.

“I’ve had the longest day ever. First I got held up at work because the next nurse on shift was late, and then Brody threw up in the car after I picked him up from the sitter.” Sam sighs. “It’s days like these I really miss Josh. I just want to go home and take a nice long bath and go to bed. It would be nice if he was home and he could just take the kids for a while to give me time to decompress a bit.”

“Sounds like you’ve had a rough one,” I tell her. “You need me to come over and help out with the kids tonight so you can relax?”

Her green eyes brighten. “That would be amazing, but are you sure that won’t interfere with your evening or anything? I don’t want to be an imposition.”

I roll my eyes. “Sam, please. You’ve met me, right? When am I ever busy?”

That causes her to frown, and I know exactly what she’s thinking before she even says it. Sam doesn’t like me being alone. “Have you talked to Wes?”

She asks me this nearly every day. By nature, she’s a worrier, has been since I met her back in college when we got assigned to room together freshman year, and she hasn’t changed since then.

I chew the inside of my lower lip and shake my head. “Not since he left last month. He’s been sending me cards and different gifts, though, to let me know that he’s still thinking about me.”

She tilts her head, her pretty face etched with concern. “Have you decided if you’re going to go through with the divorce?”

“Please, don’t,” I beg her quietly. “I know what you’re going to say.”

“Wes is a great guy. If you open up to him a little more and let him in, I think he could really be good for you. The two of you have so much history, and if anyone can help you move on, it’s Wes.”

She reaches over and places her hand on top of mine. “I only say it because I’m concerned about you. What you’re putting yourself through—the inability to let go—it’s not healthy. I want you to be happy, and maybe if you finally acknowledge that Jared isn’t coming back, you’ll be able to find love again. It’s been five years, London, since anyone has heard from him, i

ncluding his own mother. He’s famous now—a different person from the one you knew. It’s time to stop holding out for him. Face it, London. He’s JJ White now. Jared Kraft is long gone.”

Even though I’ve heard this speech from her so many times over the past five years, it doesn’t make it any easier to swallow. The reality of the situation is that I’m in love with someone who doesn’t love me back. It sucks and makes me seem a little crazy, but what can I do? I can’t help the way I feel. There’s never been anyone else for me, and I can’t seem to “just get over it” like everyone keeps telling me to do.

My eyes burn as I try hard to fight back the tears. Within seconds, they’re streaking down my face, and I quickly bat them away, ashamed that I’m still ridiculously emotional about the entire situation.

“Aw, London, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to upset you. It kills me that you’re still in all this pain.”

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