he day I became the legal guardian of my five-year-old twin brothers after our parents were killed, my fiancé gave me an ultimatum I never thought I would hear from the man I planned to marry.
“Send them to foster care, or lose me forever,” he said without a trace of hesitation.
I had spent years believing Tristan was the person who would stand beside me through anything. He had called me every single night, and together we had built a small apartment in Kansas City that was filled with wedding magazines, lists, and all the little arguments that come with preparing for a future you think is already guaranteed.
