## The Voice Below Our Balcony
The next day, I tried giving Miles the vacation I had promised.
We walked along the waterfront, ate outside, and visited the aquarium.
I kept telling myself I needed proof before doing anything reckless.
Maybe there was an explanation.
Perhaps Grant had lost his memory.
Perhaps he had been injured.
Perhaps he was hiding from someone dangerous.
The mind becomes generous when the heart fears the obvious.
That evening, Miles watched television while I stood on our balcony.
Then I heard a familiar voice below.
“Sienna, I told you I am not spending another thousand dollars because you suddenly decided you hate the earrings you bought yesterday.”
Every muscle in my body froze.
I leaned over the railing.
One floor beneath us, Grant stood on another balcony with the blonde woman from the plane.
She crossed her arms.
“You promised Charleston would be romantic.”
“It is romantic.”
“Not when you complain about every dollar.”
Grant sighed.
Then he said something that removed every remaining doubt.
“One day you are going to discover that being pretty does not solve every problem.”
My fingers tightened around the railing.
He had once said almost the same thing to me.
It happened after Miles was born, when I mentioned returning to work. I had been exhausted and insecure, and instead of encouraging me, Grant made a similar remark with a smile.
I had remembered it ever since.
No stranger could carry that sentence.
Grant Harper was alive.
And he had chosen not to come home.
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