I let out a short, cold breath that fogged in the morning air.

“Do not lie to me,” I said. “You did it because you wanted the penthouse in New York. You did it because you couldn’t stand being the only Monroe who didn’t own a yacht.”

“Allison, please,” he said, a tear tracing a line through the dust on his cheek. “Think about the early days. The apartment in Savannah. The nights we spent talking about starting a family.”

I stared at him, the memory rising in my mind before I pushed it back down.

“I remember those days,” I said. “I also remember the courthouse steps.”

Grant went completely still.

“What?” he asked.

“Two years ago,” I said, my voice dropping to a whisper. “When the Senate committee called me to testify about the security breach in the southern command.”

He shifted his gaze away from me, looking down at his polished shoes.

“Your mother’s public relations firm spent three weeks painting me as an incompetent officer,” I said. “They leaked my medical records. They called me unstable.”

“I couldn’t stop her,” Grant muttered.