{"product_id":"only-love-can-hurt-like-this-isbn-9780593544334","title":"Only Love Can Hurt Like This","description":"\u003cb\u003eAN EARTH SHATTERING SECRET. A LIFE-CHANGING LOVE STORY.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Nobody writes angst and joy and hope like Paige Toon.”—CHRISTINA LAUREN, author of \u003ci\u003eLOVE AND OTHER WORDS\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFor fans of Colleen Hoover, an unforgettable and heartbreaking love story with an earth-shattering secret at its core that asks the question: \u003ci\u003eIs love worth risking everything for?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen Wren realizes her fiancé is in love with someone else, she thinks her heart will never recover.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOn the other side of the world, Anders lost his wife four years ago and is still struggling to move on.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWren hopes that spending the summer with her dad and step-family on their farm in Indiana will help her to heal. There, amid the cornfields and fireflies, she and Anders cross paths and their worlds are turned upside-down again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut Wren doesn't know that Anders is harboring a secret, and if he acts on any feelings he has for Wren it will have serious fall-out for everyone. Walking away would hurt Wren more than she can imagine. But, knowing the truth, how can she possibly stay?\u003ci\u003eReader’s Digest \u003c\/i\u003eMay book club pick\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOne of \u003ci\u003eNew York Post\u003c\/i\u003e’s “best new books to read”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOne of \u003ci\u003eReader’s Digest’s \u003c\/i\u003e32 Best Beach Reads for the Perfect Escape\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Will have you swooning, crying, and turning the pages late into the night…. Truly heart-rending.” —Sophie Cousens, author of \u003ci\u003eJust Haven’t Met You Yet\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Even while her novel was breaking my heart into tiny pieces, I couldn’t put it down. Emotional and riveting, this is a story of big secrets, and even bigger love.” —Jill Santopolo, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Light We Lost\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A tightly-paced blend of angst and joy and hope. Perfect from start to finish. I absolutely adored this book!” \u003ci\u003e—\u003c\/i\u003eChristina Lauren, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Unhoneymooners\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Emotional, angsty, and utterly romantic. I was rooting so hard for these characters to get the happy ending they deserved. This story will have you wiping away tears one moment, and smiling dreamily the next.\" –Mia Sheridan, author of \u003ci\u003eArcher’s Voice \u003c\/i\u003eand \u003ci\u003eTravis\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Paige Toon writes such beautiful, emotional love stories. I adored \u003ci\u003eOnly Love Can Hurt Like This—\u003c\/i\u003eit swept me away to the gorgeous Wetherill Farm and I fell in love with Wren and Anders.\"\u003ci\u003e —\u003c\/i\u003eBeth O’Leary, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Flatshare \u003c\/i\u003eand \u003ci\u003eThe Road Trip\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“So unique and moving. I adored every lovely word!” —Josie Silver, author of \u003ci\u003eOne Day in December\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“In this monumentally moving story (keep the tissues at hand) of two lovers kept apart by tragic secrets, Toon urges us to risk everything, to never play it safe when it comes to the heart, and to know that caring is always, always, worth the cost.” —Caroline Leavitt, author of \u003ci\u003ePictures of You\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eWith or Without You\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A delicious, slow burn love story that hit me in parts of my heart I didn’t even know I had. Full of original and complex characters, it left me with the wonderful feeling that love this real can make anything possible.”—Annabel Monaghan, author of \u003ci\u003eNora Goes Off Script\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“What a beautiful, lovely tearjerker of a book. This story will stay with me.” —Lizzy Dent, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Summer Job \u003c\/i\u003eand \u003ci\u003eThe Setup\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Compulsively page-turning, wildly romantic and beautifully heartbreaking. I stayed up all night and inhaled it in one big gulp. A totally brilliant read—I could not love it more.”—Emily Stone, author of \u003ci\u003eAlways in December\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Emotional.” –\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Oh my GOD. This book! Only Paige Toon can make me believe in the power of love this way….It has everything: family, love, secrets, sexy descriptions of brooding, hot men...just sublime.” —Laura Jane Williams, author of \u003ci\u003eOur Stop \u003c\/i\u003eand \u003ci\u003eThe Love Square\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Remarkably romantic and emotional, written by one of the only writers who can make me cry!” —Lia Louis, author of \u003ci\u003eEight Perfect Hours\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A beautiful love story that simmers in such a heart-warming and heart-breaking way. I sobbed!” —Giovanna Fletcher, author of \u003ci\u003eEve of Man\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cu\u003ePraise for Paige Toon\u003c\/u\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Paige Toon is a master at toying with the heartstrings and I want to hate her for it, but I just keep coming back for more. Nobody writes angst and joy and hope like Paige Toon. I gobble up every one of her books!”—Christina Lauren, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Unhoneymooners \u003c\/i\u003eand \u003ci\u003eLove and Other Words\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Paige Toon's romances are powerful and poignant and never fail to leave me clutching her book to my chest.” –Mia Sheridan, bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eArcher’s Voice \u003c\/i\u003eand \u003ci\u003eTravis\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Paige Toon warms your heart, shatters it in pieces, then puts it back together again and again.”—Abby Jimenez, #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author of \u003ci\u003eJust for the Summer\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Paige Toon writes the ultimate love stories: beautifully written, complex, and filled with longing.”—Annabel Monaghan, bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eNora Goes Off Script\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Paige Toon is the queen of heart-rending love stories.”—Sophie Cousens, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author of \u003ci\u003eJust Haven’t Met You Yet\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“Toon’s writing is emotional and riveting.”—Jill Santopolo, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Light We Lost\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Every Paige Toon romance is five stars. Her beautiful, emotional love stories sweep me away.”—Beth O’Leary, bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Flatshare\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Toon urges us to risk everything, to never play it safe when it comes to the heart, and to know that caring is always, always, worth the cost.” —Caroline Leavitt, author of \u003ci\u003ePictures of You\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eWith or Without You\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Unique and moving.” —Josie Silver, #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author of \u003ci\u003eOne Day in December\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Only Paige Toon can make me believe in the power of love this way.” —Laura Jane Williams, author of \u003ci\u003eOur Stop\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eThe Love Square\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Devoured in one sitting.” —\u003ci\u003eCosmopolitan\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Emotional.” —\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Compulsively page-turning, wildly romantic and beautifully heartbreaking.”—Emily Stone, author of \u003ci\u003eAlways in December\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Paige Toon is the queen of will they\/won’t they romance, setting up an ending that will leave you in bits.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Sunday Express \u003c\/i\u003e(UK)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Queen of rom coms.” —\u003ci\u003eOK Magazine\u003c\/i\u003e (UK)\u003cb\u003ePaige Toon \u003c\/b\u003egrew up between England, Australia, and America and has been writing emotional love stories since 2007. She has published fifteen novels, a three-part spin-off series for young adults, and a collection of short stories. Her books have sold nearly 3 million copies worldwide. She lives in Cambridgeshire, England, with her husband and their two children. \u003ci\u003eOnly Love Can Hurt Like This\u003c\/i\u003e is her first novel published in the US.\u003cb\u003ePrologue\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003eOn days like this, I love living in Bury St Edmunds, when the spires of the cream stone cathedral seem illuminated against the vivid blue sky and even the black flintstones on the ruined abbey walls gleam under the sunshine as though they’ve been polished.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It’s only early April, but it’s the warmest day of the year so far by a\u003ci\u003e mile\u003c\/i\u003e and I’m already feeling so much better after getting out of the office. I’ve just come off a phone call with a nightmare client – she and her home renovations are enough to put me off architecture for life: I \u003ci\u003eneed\u003c\/i\u003e this coffee break.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I’m wandering amongst the abbey ruins, looking for a wall low enough to perch on and drink my coffee, when I see my fiancé, Scott, sitting on a bench in the shade of a giant fir tree. Before I can call out a delighted hello and go to join him, I register that he’s with Nadine.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Scott set up his own landscape gardening business when we moved here from London a year ago, and Nadine started working for him soon after that, days before he asked me to marry him in the rose gardens of a local manor house. She’s twenty-nine and is tall and strong with golden skin and an infectious laugh. I liked her the moment I met her and on every occasion since then, so I’m not sure why my intended greeting has lodged in my throat.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My partner and his co-worker are almost two feet apart, but there’s something about their body language that strikes me as odd. Scott is leaning forward, his white T-shirt stretched taut across his broad back and his forearms planted on his thighs. Nadine has her arms and legs crossed, her face tilted towards Scott’s and her typically bouncy, high blonde ponytail seems preternaturally still. The angled position of Scott’s face mirrors Nadine’s, but neither of them is looking at the other. Nor are they speaking. They seem frozen. Tense.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A squirrel runs along the jagged wall to my left. Birds are singing in the surrounding trees. Children laugh in the distant playground. But I stand and stare, unease creeping over me.\u003cbr\u003e They’re sitting apart. They’re not doing anything wrong. And yet...\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Something does not feel right.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Then, suddenly, Scott turns and stares straight at Nadine. There’s a strange look on his handsome face, an expression I can’t decipher. My heart is in my throat as she slowly lifts her chin and meets his eyes, two perfect side profiles: his thick, dark eyebrows to her flawless arches; his straight nose to her small upturned one; two sets of full lips, serious and unsmiling.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Seconds tick past and darkness washes over me. To go from feeling light and warm to sick and cold is completely hideous.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e They are still staring at each other. And not a word has passed between them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I jolt as Scott launches himself to his feet and strides off in the direction of town. Nadine watches him until he’s out of sight, then visibly exhales, hunching forward and placing her head in her hands. She stays like that for a minute or so before getting up and slowly following Scott.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I realise I’m shaking.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e What \u003ci\u003ewas\u003c\/i\u003e that?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003eIs my fiancé having an affair? And if not, is he thinking about having one?\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Hang on. They only \u003ci\u003elooked\u003c\/i\u003e at each other. They didn’t do anything wrong. I like Nadine. I trust Scott.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But something does appear to be going on between them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My mother has always told me to trust my instincts. But it’s hard to trust your instincts when they’re breaking your heart.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e1\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eThree months later\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNew York was shrouded by cloud cover. I've only ever flown to Indianapolis via Chicago, so I was hoping to see the infamous green void of Central Park bordered by skyscrapers, but by the time the sky finally clears, all it reveals is a patchwork landscape of fields and farms far below.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eI've been traveling all day and it will be after 5 p.m. by the time I touch down, which is ten o'clock at night back in the UK. I'm shattered, but thankfully Dad is coming to collect me from the airport. I know that my exhaustion is not entirely due to lack of sleep. The last three months have taken their toll on me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e***\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eScott was sitting at the kitchen table when I arrived home from work that day back in April, after a horrible afternoon of seesawing between emotions. One minute I’d felt wildly unsettled and the next I’d convinced myself that the look he and Nadine shared meant nothing. But as soon as I saw Scott’s face, I knew that my intuition had served me correctly. There \u003ci\u003ewas\u003c\/i\u003e something going on between them, but it was an emotional connection, rather than a physical affair.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe wanted to talk to me as soon as I walked through the front door, which threw me as I was expecting to have to demand answers, not have them dished up to me on a plate. And when he started to confess his feelings, I still thought he planned to ask for my forgiveness-which I know I would have granted. We were getting married in December and were hoping to try for a baby in the new year. No way was I throwing away our beautiful future just because he'd developed a silly crush.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMaybe I was being naive, but it took me a while to realize that he was leaving me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI remember the details of our conversation so clearly. I even remember that his fingernails still had an arc of dirt buried deep, close to his skin, and that he smelled earthy, of fresh air and garden soil. He was so familiar to me and yet so like a stranger. I'd never seen him looking so torn and tormented.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I do love you, Wren,\" he claimed, tears clumping his brown lashes together in spikes. \"In some ways, I wish I'd never met her because I think you and I could have been happy. But lately I've started to wonder if we're really right for each other.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt had taken him meeting Nadine, working with her almost every day, to recognize how well suited they were, how they clicked on another level.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAt that point, they hadn't even spoken to each other about how they felt. Nadine had taken some time off to go and stay with her parents and Scott had sensed it was because she wanted to get some distance from him to clear her head. But when she came in to work that day in April and handed in her resignation, he realized he couldn't let her go.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI asked him, tearfully, if he thought she was his soul mate, and when he met my eyes, his expression said it all.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI'd read about it in books, seen it in films: the protagonist who is in a relationship with someone who doesn't understand them. Finding love with someone who well and truly does. Nothing can stand in their way. The entire audience is rooting for them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI never in a million years thought this would happen to me, that \u003ci\u003eI'd \u003c\/i\u003ebe the one standing in the way of true love.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAgony and complete and utter helplessness engulfed me as the seriousness of our situation finally dawned on me. There was nothing I could do. There was no fight to be won. The love of \u003ci\u003emy \u003c\/i\u003elife was already lost to me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eScott and Nadine are together now. I've seen them around town a few times and I'm always on my guard in case I bump into them, but the last straw came the week before last, when I was sitting in my favorite café opposite the Abbey Gate.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSuddenly they were spewed out of the Gate's mouth, hand in hand and smiling, the sun glinting off Nadine's blond hair as Scott guided her across the busy road. When they walked into the café and saw me sitting with my mum, Scott apologized and quickly backtracked, but catching his eye as he passed by my window, seeing his face, grim and drawn, made me feel physically sick.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"This town is far too small for the both of you, darling,\" Mum said with sympathy as I blinked back tears.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Why should I be the one to leave?\" I asked in a small voice.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"His landscape gardening business is here. He's not going anywhere anytime soon. Get away, Wren, even if only for a couple of weeks,\" she implored. \"Put some distance between you, give your heart time to recover.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe was right. I did need a break from home, from work, from Scott, from walking the same streets that we used to walk together, back when he'd hold my hand and step in front of traffic for \u003ci\u003eme\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSo I called my dad that night and asked if I could visit.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e***\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDad is hovering behind the rope when I walk out into Arrivals, his navy-and-red-checked shirt tucked into jeans.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAt the sight of me, his face breaks into a wide grin, his heavily bristled cheeks seeming even rounder than they did when I last saw him at Christmas. He and his wife, Sheryl, went to Paris on holiday, so Scott and I caught the train over and spent some time with them there. This is my first trip back to America in two years.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Hey, you!\" he chirps.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Hello, Dad.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI experience a flood of warmth as his arms close around me. I breathe in his familiar scent-soap and laundry detergent-and know that this will be the last time we hug until we're standing in this very airport in two weeks' time, saying goodbye. The realization gives me a pang as I withdraw.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHis notoriously scruffy hair, once the same mid-brown shade as mine, is now riddled with gray. Although we both have hazel eyes, that's probably where our resemblance ends.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eI don't have much in common with my mother, Robin, either, apart from the fact that we're both named after small birds. Mum likes flowing clothes and bright patterns; I like structured skirts and shirts in dark colors. Her features are warm and open while my face is narrower and, well, I once described it as \"pinched,\" but she hotly refuted that, telling me I had fine bone structure, like an aristocrat, which made me laugh.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"How was your flight?\" Dad asks buoyantly as he relieves me of my suitcase.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Pretty good,\" I reply.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Tired?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A bit.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"You can nap in the car. Our new home is a couple of hours away.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy half sister, Bailey, who's six years my junior, got married earlier this year and settled in her husband's hometown in Southern Indiana. Dad and Sheryl recently relocated to this same small town to be close to them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThere's a lot about this scenario that stings.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy dad is a devoted husband and father. But I don't have a whole lot of experience of him being like that. I do know that he loves me, but he's never really been there for me. He doesn't really know me. How could he when we live almost four thousand miles apart and spend no more than a couple of weeks a year in each other's company?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe July air when we step out of the airport terminal feels like a warm blanket being draped around my shoulders. Before long, we're on a three-lane highway heading away from Indianapolis. We're too far from the city to see its skyscrapers, but I remember them from previous shopping trips. Out here the landscape is mostly flat and far-reaching, peppered with big red barns and grain silos.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"How's Bailey settling into married life?\" I ask, trying to ignore a small spike of jealousy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI've never considered my beautiful half sister to be particularly competitive, so I'm sure she \u003ci\u003ewasn't \u003c\/i\u003eracing me down the aisle when she decided to tie the knot in Las Vegas, but now that my wedding has been called off, the ring on her finger does seem a little galling.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"She's happy,\" Dad replies with a shrug, turning down the air-con now that the car has cooled.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Do you get on with Casey?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI haven't even met Bailey's new husband yet. Scott and I were invited to the wedding, but with only a week's notice, we didn't feel it was expected of us to go. Bailey has always been impulsive.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Everyone gets along with Casey,\" Dad replies. \"He's a good guy.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"That's cool.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI don't mean for my voice to sound thin, but Dad shoots me a pained look.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I was sorry to hear about Scott,\" he says. \"I thought he was a good guy too.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"He was,\" I reply quietly. \"I guess he still is.\" I swallow down the lump in my throat and add with forced flippancy, \"Can't help who you fall in love with, right?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDad clears his throat. \"Right.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWe let that sit between us for a while.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy parents met when they were in their early twenties and traveling around Europe. They fell hopelessly in love, and when Dad's visa ran out, Mum moved to Phoenix, Arizona, to be with him. They were married and expecting me within a year.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt was a straightforward case of too young, too soon. At least, that's how Dad described it to me when, as a resentful teenager, I tried to get to the bottom of why his head was so easily turned by another woman, a professor at the University of Arizona where Dad was working as a groundskeeper.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt's always been a mystery to me how someone like Sheryl could fall for a man like Dad-she's nine years older and a whole lot wiser. I get the attraction part-objectively speaking, my dad was kind of hot: Sheryl used to take her coffee breaks outside in the gardens so she could chat with him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHarder to understand is how an affair between an academic and a groundskeeper turned into something serious enough that they were willing to devastate his wife and child.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBecause when Sheryl fell pregnant with Bailey, Dad chose them over us. Sheryl convinced Dad to move to Indiana to be closer to her family and found a position at the university in Bloomington. My heartbroken mother took me home to the UK, and Bailey got to grow up with my dad as her own.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis trip is not without its emotional complications.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e***\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI must nod off because it doesn’t feel like we’ve been traveling for two hours when Dad rouses me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"We're coming into town,\" he says. \"I thought you might like to see it.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI force my stinging, tired eyes to focus on the view outside my window. We're on a long, straight road, whizzing past fast food restaurant chains: Taco Bell, KFC, Hardee's, Wendy's. We pass a car wash and a garage and then the road morphs into a residential street with regular intersections. Some of the homes are two-story with gabled dormers, red-tiled roofs, and basement windows peeking out above neatly mowed lawns. Others are bungalows of white weatherboard with brightly painted shutters in lime green or cornflower blue. We crest a small hill and continue over the other side, where there's more of the same before we reach what Dad says is the \"historical downtown.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAhead is a large square around a central courthouse with a tall clock tower. The building gleams white in the fading sunshine, and as Dad drives around it, multiple Doric columns come into view.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"That's the Hoosier National Forest off in the distance,\" Dad says as we leave the town center and head through another residential sector where many of the homes have red, white, and blue banners hanging from their front porches. I've missed the Fourth of July celebrations by only a week.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"And Bailey and Casey live along there,\" Dad adds, nodding out the window.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThere's a sign at the edge of the road that reads: \u003ci\u003eWetherill Farm-Pick Your Own\u003c\/i\u003e, with an arrow pointing in the direction we're heading.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Yours?\" I ask.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Yep.\" He nods proudly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBeneath the cursive black-with-white-infill lettering are painted illustrations of fruit and vegetables. I make out peach, pear, apple, pumpkin, and watermelon before we drive past.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"You do watermelons too?\"\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"Not this year,\" Dad replies as we cross over a tumbling river on an old iron bridge that's painted rust red. \"Only pumpkins for Halloween. The previous owners grew melons, but we figured we'd better give ourselves time to get to grips with the orchards first. Hopefully we won't get into trouble for false advertising,\" he jokes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMum bristled when I told her that Dad and Sheryl had bought a pick-your-own produce farm. She was a fruit picker at a citrus farm when we lived in Phoenix and she works at a garden center now. She's always loved being out in the open and tending to nature, even if the work itself isn't particularly challenging.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe once confided that she felt Dad had rubbed salt into her wounds when he left her not just for another woman, but for a professor. Now Sheryl has swapped academia for what is basically Mum's dream job. It's no surprise she feels sore.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLaid out before us on the other side of the bridge is farmland, vast and sprawling for miles. We drive alongside a field of something green and leafy for a short while before Dad takes a left onto a dirt track.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Here's home,\" he says, turning right almost immediately into a long, tree-lined driveway.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThere's an identical \u003ci\u003eWetherill Farm-Pick Your Own\u003c\/i\u003e sign on the grassy verge and the drive splits, leading to a black wooden barn on the left, beyond which are fields of fruit trees. At the end of the right-hand fork is a two-story farmhouse fashioned out of light gray weatherboard. The left-hand third of it has a gabled front with three big windows. On the right, three smaller, matching gabled dormers protrude from the gray slate roof, beneath which runs a long veranda. The rose beds at the front of the house are bursting with pinky-orange blooms and there are three stone steps leading up to a door painted midnight blue.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis door opens as Dad cuts the engine. I reach for my handle and climb out of the car to greet Sheryl.","brand":"G.P. Putnam's Sons","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46300953018597,"sku":"NP9780593544334","price":17.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593544334.jpg?v=1767734216","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/only-love-can-hurt-like-this-isbn-9780593544334","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}