Chapter 1

After putting my son, Jonathan Lane, to bed, I, Jasper Lane, returned to the guest room. I opened my laptop and started drafting the divorce agreement.

This year marked the seventh year of my marriage to Zoey Sutton. It was also the seventh year we had been living apart.

I was finally ready to let her go.

Jonathan knocked on my door and walked in. My seven-year-old son was holding his airplane model as he asked, "Daddy, are we really moving?"

He looked at me, clearly reluctant to leave. "But Ms. Sutton hugged me tonight. Doesn't that mean she's starting to like me?"

I froze, momentarily disoriented.

Seven years of marriage, yet Zoey had never let Jonathan call her "Mommy".

When he was two, she had taken him grocery shopping. On the way, they had run into an acquaintance.

Because Jonathan had accidentally called her "Mommy", Zoey put him down and made the barely walking toddler go on by himself. By the time they got back, his knees and palms had been scraped raw.

When he was four, he had begged for weeks to go to the amusement park. That day, another careless "Mommy" slipped out.

Zoey had let go of his hand, letting him get lost in the crowd. By the time we found him, he had been hiding in the bushes, crying so hard he could barely breathe.

From then on, he learned to call her "Ms. Sutton", and our family became nothing more than a joke.

My nose stung at the memory, and I pulled Jonathan into my arms.

"Jon," I said quietly, "someone she loves is coming back. We can't stay in this house anymore."

His gaze dimmed, and then he quickly held out his airplane to me. "But Daddy, Ms. Sutton gave me a gift tonight. If she didn't like me, why would she do that?"

He looked desperate, as if he were trying to prove that his mother loved him.

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

How could I explain it to him? What was I supposed to say? Should I tell him that Zoey was happy because her first love was returning? Or that the gift hadn't truly been her idea?

I couldn't say any of that.

I swallowed the bitterness in my heart, hiding it as I always did, and chose to protect Jonathan with a polished truth. I kissed his forehead and wiped my tears where he couldn't see.

It was a facade a father would uphold, even at the height of his pain.

Forcing a smile, I asked, "Jon, if I want to take you away from Ms. Sutton, would you come with me?"

He stiffened, then whispered, "Can't we stay? I haven't even been allowed to call her 'Mommy' yet…"

Tears welled up in my eyes, and I struggled to keep them from falling.

"Jon, she doesn't want us to stay in her house. Will you let me take you?"

Jonathan hugged his airplane tightly. He remained silent for a long time before speaking.