Daniel Herrera parked his sleek sedan on a dusty back road and felt his pulse hammer when he saw her.
His ex-wife.
The poised woman he’d met a decade earlier at upscale charity galas in Coral Gables was now standing in the doorway of a weathered wooden cottage. Two little girls clung to her legs.
He’d gotten the address from a former mutual friend, Melissa Grant, who let it slip at a fundraiser the week before.
When Emily stepped outside and recognized him, she immediately tried to shut the door.
“Emily, please. I need to talk to you,” Daniel said, bracing his hand against it.
“There’s nothing to say. Go,” she replied, her voice shaking.
“Just five minutes.”
The twins, about seven years old, peeked from behind her. Their clothes were simple but clean. Their light brown hair caught the sun. Something about their faces tugged at him.
“Who is that man, Mom?” one whispered.
With a heavy breath, Emily stepped aside and let him into the cramped space that served as living room, kitchen, and bedroom. The air smelled faintly of damp wood. The ceiling sagged in places.
“These are—” Daniel started.
“My daughters. Lily and Grace,” Emily cut in. “From before.”