The Man Who Didn't Remember Our Love

From the back cover

I was a pregnant widow, my heart shattered by the loss of Ethan, my husband, who vanished into a relentless blizzard months ago. Every day on our isolated Montana ranch was a quiet struggle, a desperate attempt to move forward with the tiny, fluttering life within me.

Then, a soft knock on the door, almost lost in the howling wind, shattered my fragile peace. Standing there, weathered but undeniably real, was Ethan. My breath caught, my world stopped spinning.

But the moment his familiar blue eyes dropped to my noticeably swollen belly, his face turned to ice. "We never shared a bed," he rasped, a chilling statement, not a question. "How can you be pregnant?"

The words struck me like physical blows, each one a fresh betrayal. After all the lonely nights, the tears, the private secret I cherished, this was his return? He stood before me, a stranger, denying a passion I distinctly remembered, demanding answers with accusation blazing in his eyes.

How could I explain the man who held me when he himself couldn't remember? The one who called himself Ace? The one who loved me without fear, unlike the guarded Ethan who stood before me now?

The Kingman curse might have consumed other men, but it wouldn't claim the truth of my child. I lifted my chin, a spark of defiance igniting. He wanted answers? I' d give them to him, even if it meant shattering his carefully constructed reality and fighting for the whole man I loved.