It’s been three years since he last saw the woman he fell in love with. Now, she’s the mother of a little girl named Charlotte.

“How old are you, Charlotte?” He asks, looking down at the little girl sitting in the shopping cart. “Two and a half.”

He blinks. The timing makes sense. Could it be?

“She’s not, Grant.” You say quietly, reading his mind and interrupting his thoughts. His eyes flick up towards yours.

“Then who’s?”