The Widow Who Wasn't

ng months, I, Ava – owner of our beloved Portland bakery, "The Daily Rise" – had been a grieving

Amidst the chaotic pulse and anonymous crowd, I saw him. Ethan. Alive. Laughing, his arm around Ch

thanks to "Chloe' s genius plan." Then came the gut punch: "Give it another week... Ava will have really hit ro

ive; it was a premeditated, cruel deception. He'd orchestrated my despair, moc

friend. "He's not dead, Ben," I told him, the cold fury replac