The #1 New York Times bestselling author “known for her deeply heartfelt novels” ( Woman’s World ) writes a sweeping World War II love story about a young woman torn between two brothers. In 1941, beautiful Irvel Holland is too focused on her secret to take much notice of the war raging overseas. She’s dating Sam but in love with his younger brother, Hank—her longtime best friend—and Irvel has no idea how to break the news. Then the unthinkable happens—Pearl Harbor is attacked. With their lives turned upside down overnight, Sam is drafted and convinces Hank to remain in Indiana, where he and Irvel take up the battle on the home front. While Sam fights in Europe, an undeniable chemistry builds between Irvel and Hank but neither would dare cross that line. Then, two military leaders pay Irvel a visit at the classroom where she teaches. The men have plans for her, a proposition to join a new spy network. One catch: She can tell no one. With Irvel caught between two brothers thousands of miles apart, can love find a way, even from the ashes of the greatest heartbreak? Karen Kingsbury, #1 New York Times bestselling novelist, is America’s favorite inspirational storyteller, with more than twenty-five million copies of her award-winning books in print. Her last dozen titles have topped bestseller lists and many of her novels are under development as major motion pictures. Karen recently opened her own film company called Kingsbury Productions. The company’s first theatrical movie, Someone Like You , is considered one of the most anticipated movies of the year. For more information visit SomeoneLikeYou.movie. Also, the first three seasons of Karen’s Baxter Family books are now an original series called The Baxters on Prime Video. Karen and her husband, Donald, live in Tennessee near their children and grandchildren. Chapter 1: October 2, 1989 OCTOBER 2, 1989 1 Red was the last color, the very last. That’s what Dr. Edmonds was saying. Irvel Myers’s mind would splinter and fracture and fade under the burden of Alzheimer’s, and she would forget the love that long ago caused her world to stop and stare in awe. Irvel and Hank. In little time, she would no longer know his face or his voice, or Hank himself, the one who had held her hand when she said, “I do,” and who had stood beside her that rainy Wednesday morning in Bloomington, Indiana, when she delivered their son. Her brain would release to nothingness the name of that boy, the one she had cherished for thirty-two years, and also the smell and feel of the wood and walls and windows of the house where her life had taken shape for the past four decades, and it would do something else. It would erase entirely her years as a spy for the Office of Strategic Services. But until the very end, it would remember the color red. That’s what the doctor was saying. Irvel Myers adjusted her sweater and tapped both feet on the floor beneath the doctor’s desk. The tick of the clock on the wall was louder than before. Deafening. The doctor stopped talking. For a long time, he didn’t say a word, just stared at them. And Irvel wanted to scream. How could this be happening? Her strong and glorious mind was dying? Through the years of fighting for her life and her heart, Irvel could always count on three things. God. Hank. And her mental acuity. Until now… Tall, strong Hank released a guttural sound. Like someone had kicked him below his ribs and he was still trying to figure out how to inhale. He tightened his hold on Irvel’s hand and whispered his next words. “How… how long?” It was the only question that mattered. Dr. Edmonds looked down at Irvel’s file and after a beat he lifted his eyes. “Since your first exam, your degeneration has been happening at a rapid pace.” Her first exam. Irvel blinked and stared out the window. Two months ago today, Hank had brought her to this same office. Irvel had been acting scattered. That’s how Hank had described it. “You’re just a little scattered, my love.” Setting dirty dishes in the refrigerator. Pulling into the driveway of the wrong house. Calling Hank from a pay phone and asking if he remembered the name of their favorite grocery store. “I know what I need to make chicken piccata.” She had forced a nervous laugh. “But for the life of me, I can’t remember where the store is.” Now the doctor exhaled. He hesitated, as if the news was only real and true and terrible if he spoke it out loud. Finally, his answer pushed its way through. “By my estimation, you’ll need full-time care sometime in the next year, Mrs. Myers.” A year? The word hovered over her and screamed at her and consumed her in a single instant. And as it had done all her life, Irvel’s mathematical brain imagined that time in increments. Precious, passing, dissolving, disappearing sections of time. Three-hundred and sixty-five days… fifty-two weeks… twelve months. “I have to be honest here.” The doctor lifted his eyes to Hank and then to