Page 1 of Forgiveness River

Chapter One

The womanin the mirror was a masterpiece of careful construction. Raven O’Hara studied her reflection with clinical detachment, noting how the mascara made her lashes sweep dramatically above crystalline-blue eyes, how the hint of blush warmed her olive complexion to a sun-kissed glow, how the perfectly shaped brows framed a face that belonged on a magazine cover rather than in a mountain resort town.

Perfect. Pristine. A beautiful lie.

She’d spent thirty extra minutes on the façade this morning, layering cosmetics like an artist preparing for an exhibition. Not vanity—armor. In Laurel Valley, the O’Hara name carried weight, expectations. And the whispers—those she could already hear, ghosting through the town like autumn leaves—Something’s not right with Wyatt and Raven. Have you noticed? Have you heard?

The motel receipt she’d found in Wyatt’s jacket pocket three days ago weighed on her mind, its existence a sliver of ice lodged beneath her ribs. Mountain View Lodge, a place on the outskirts of Riverton that rented rooms by the hour. She hadn’t confronted him yet—what would be the point when his answers had become as carefully constructed as her makeup?

She tucked a strand of midnight hair behind her ear, the large silver hoop earring catching the morning light that spilled through the bedroom window. The earring swung like a pendulum, marking seconds in a marriage that was crumbling with each tick forward. The delicate silver charm dangling from it—a small cactus—had been a gift from her parents when they’d moved to Arizona three years ago, seeking warmer temperatures for her father’s arthritis. She missed them, especially now, and their weekly video calls were poor substitutes for the comfort of her mother’s embrace or her father’s steady wisdom.

“You can do this,” she whispered to her reflection. “You’ve been doing it for months.”

The thought carried no comfort, only the hollow ring of truth.

Her fingers traced the collar of her flowing maxi dress, vibrant patterns in turquoise and crimson that seemed to mock her mood with their joyful exuberance. The silk whispered against her skin as she moved, a sensual reminder of a time when touch meant connection rather than vacancy.

She inhaled deeply, the scent of her perfume—white jasmine with vanilla undertones—enveloping her in bittersweet memory. Wyatt had given her the fragrance. It was his favorite. Or it had been before everything changed.

Before the silences between them grew so vast and deep that crossing them required more courage than she could summon. Before he started coming home with that faraway look in his eyes and the smell of pine and secrets clinging to his clothes.

Her phone lay on the vanity, screen dark and accusatory. She tapped it awake, checking for messages though she already knew there would be none. Wyatt hadn’t come home last night.

Again.

When had absence become their normal? When had explanations morphed into terse texts, then into nothing at all?

The sound of tires on gravel snapped her attention toward the window. A vehicle she didn’t recognize—a dark blue SUV with tinted windows—slowed as it passed their driveway, the driver’s face indistinct behind the windshield. Something about the deliberate way it moved made the pulse in her neck jump with nerves. Then the SUV accelerated, continuing down the street.

She was jumping at shadows. Wyatt’s absence was causing her mind to play tricks on her. She slipped her feet into strappy sandals she’d bought on her last trip to Boise with Sophie, the leather butter soft against her skin, grabbed her car keys and purse, and then stepped out onto her front porch, closing the door behind her.

Raven closed her eyes and breathed in, letting the familiar rhythms and scents wash over her—pine and honeysuckle—the sound of a lawnmower starting up at the end of the street—and the sunlight as it poured over the mountains like warm honey, gilding the pines and aspens that surrounded Laurel Valley.

Summer had brought the tourists—more than the summers of the past it seemed—their eager faces and expensive outdoor gear a welcome infusion to the local economy. Fortunately, the extra business meant she had more than enough to occupy her mind.

This was Laurel Valley.

Home. Community. The web of connections that had held her steady through every storm of her life.

Except this one. This storm lived inside her own house, her own marriage.

“Enough,” she said aloud.

The drive into town took exactly seven minutes, a journey so familiar she could navigate it blindfolded. Each curve and dip in the road mapped not just in her mind but in her muscle memory.

Downtown Laurel Valley looked like it had been plucked straight from a tourism brochure—charming chalets with flower boxes spilling geraniums and petunias in riotous bloom, cobblestone streets polished by decades of footfalls, and the majestic Twin Peaks standing sentinel in the background. She could almost hear the background music that should accompany such a scene.

Raven turned her car into the small employee parking lot behind The Reading Nook, the renovated bookstore that had risen from the ashes last year like a phoenix. Sophie and Hank had poured not just money but heart into ensuring the rebuilt store maintained the charm of the original while adding modern amenities, including the stained-glass window salvaged from the fire, which now cast rainbow patterns across the wooden floors inside.

As she pulled into her usual spot, she noticed Sophie’s hybrid with its trunk open, stacks of boxes visible inside. Sophie herself was precariously balancing a tower of hardcovers while trying to reach for another box, her petite frame barely visible behind the stack. The scene pulled a genuine smile from Raven—the first of the day.

Sophie’s wild wavy hair bounced with each movement, the rich brown catching copper highlights in the morning sun. The woman was perpetual motion contained in five feet two inches of determination.

Raven stepped out of her car, the familiar scent of old books mingling with fresh coffee from the café next door. “Need a hand before you become a bookstore casualty?” she called.

Sophie peered around her tower of books, her expressive brown eyes lighting up with relief.

“My hero!” she exclaimed, the stack wobbling dangerously as she shifted. “June’s book club selections arrived, and I swear they multiply when I’m not looking. I swear if I have to read onemore novel about a woman finding herself in Tuscany, I’m going to book a one-way ticket there just to spite the authors.”

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