“Home,” she repeats, her face scrunched up in disgust. “This isn’t my home,” she says, looking exhausted. “I’m not even sure it’s yours. It’s Hannah’s.” I take a step back and look around. She’s right. Nearly every single thing in here was chosen by Hannah. I let her do whatever she wanted, and I’ve never even truly loved my own home as a result. How did I never see that before? “Raven,” I say. “I meant what I said when you and I got married. I’ll do right by you, starting with a formal announcement next month.” “What?” she asks, her eyes widening. “I thought…” “You thought we’d keep our
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