marriage, he invited me to Christmas dinner.
I knew immediately the invitation had nothing to do with forgiveness.
It was about proving something.
On a cold December afternoon, I stood beside the wide windows of my office in Phoenix, Arizona, watching sunlight stretch across the city when my phone vibrated on the desk.
The name on the screen stopped me.
Conrad Ashby.
My former husband.
I had not heard from him in years.
His message was brief.
“My family is gathering for Christmas in Montana. Mom thinks enough time has
