About

The test is still sitting on the edge of the sink. Two pink lines. Your bag is packed in two minutes because that's all the time they gave you before the door slammed. You have one number. A grease-smudged napkin from a man you spent one reckless night with and never expected to call. Darrell is a widower, a dad, a man who swore he was done wanting things. He doesn't know why he wrote his number down. He definitely doesn't know what you're about to tell him. The phone rings once. Twice. Three times.