A Path to Healing

From the back cover

My mother, Susan, taught public school for thirty years.

She loved her students and her job.

Two years ago, she died, and my wife, Olivia, was my rock.

Then at a company "Day of Service," I saw Olivia spoon-feeding an elderly woman.

Olivia, who told me she was flying to California for a "wellness retreat."

She looked up, and asked, "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

I was left stunned, publicly accused of harassment, and suspended from my new promotion.

Olivia returned home with tearful excuses, claiming she was secretly caring for Mrs. Peterson because she reminded her of my mother.

But small, unsettling details – a discount body wash, our forgotten anniversary, a malicious serving of cilantro – chipped away at her story.

Was I going crazy, or was Olivia deliberately trying to obscure the truth of her life from me?

My heart pounded with a sickening dread.

This wasn't just a distraction; it was a calculated, devastating betrayal.

The final straw was a booking confirmation on her tablet for The Cascade Inn, a luxury hotel, for that very night.

Cold fury turned to icy resolution.

I knew her supposed "retreat" was a lie.

I had to know who she was meeting.

I grabbed my keys.