Daniel Carter had walked into hundreds of hotels in his life.
Most of them blurred together in his memory—marble floors, polished counters, expensive chandeliers, employees offering practiced smiles.
But on one cold November afternoon, Daniel stepped into the Grand Wellington Hotel and saw something that stopped his heart.
He had come to the hotel for a business dinner. Walking beside him was Claire Bennett, his longtime business partner, dressed elegantly for the meeting they were about to attend.
They were halfway across the enormous lobby when Daniel suddenly stopped.
Claire nearly walked into him.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Daniel didn’t answer.
Across the lobby, beside a housekeeping cart stacked with white towels, stood a young woman in a gray hotel uniform.
Her hair was tied back.
Her face looked thinner than he remembered.
She looked tired.
And beneath the loose fabric of her uniform was a large, unmistakably pregnant belly.
Daniel stared at her as if the entire room had disappeared.
Because he knew that face.
He had spent almost seven months searching for it.
“Emily…” he whispered.
The woman looked up.
The moment their eyes met, the color drained from her face.
Her hand immediately moved to her stomach.
Daniel felt his knees weaken.
Emily Carter was his wife.
And seven months earlier, she had vanished without saying goodbye.
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