Chapter 1

Laura

The Lexington Farmer's Market transforms Main Street every weekend in October, turning it into a labyrinth of wooden stalls brimming with harvest bounty. Crisp air nips at my cheeks as I guide Cameron through the crowd, my mother trailing behind us with her well-worn shopping bag.

"Mommy, look!" Cameron tugs my hand, pointing toward a booth decorated with miniature pumpkins and gourds. His eyes widen at the sight of caramel apples glistening under the vendor's string lights. "Can I have one? Please?"

I check the hand-written sign—six dollars for a single apple dipped in caramel and rolled in crushed peanuts. Six dollars that could go toward next week's groceries or the electric bill that's been sitting on the counter for days.

"Let's see what else they have first," I say, trying to redirect his attention. My stomach twists as I silently calculate what's left in my checking account until payday.

"But they're Halloween apples!" Cameron bounces on his toes, his curls dancing with each hop. His brown eyes shine with that pure childhood want that makes my heart ache. "Johnny at school said they're the bestest thing ever. He said the caramel gets all stuck in your teeth but it's worth it!"

My mother catches up, her breath visible in the cool air as she adjusts her scarf. The arthritis in her hands makes her movements deliberate, but she never complains when it comes to our weekend market traditions.

"What's all this excitement about?" she asks, smiling down at her grandson.

"Granny, I found Halloween apples!" Cameron releases my hand to grab onto hers, tugging her closer to the display. "Look! They got sprinkles and nuts and everything! But Mommy says we gotta look around first."

Mom gives me that look—the one that says I'm being too practical again, the one she's perfected over years of watching me pinch pennies and sacrifice. Her eyes soften with understanding.

"It's a special day," she says softly, just between us while Cameron admires the treats. "Sometimes the budget can stretch a little. Didn't you always say October was for making memories?"

I feel that familiar knot in my stomach. The one that forms whenever I have to choose between being the responsible parent and being the mom who makes her kid smile. I've gotten used to that knot. It's been my constant companion since Cameron was born.

"Fine." I sigh, reaching for my wallet. "One caramel apple coming up."

Cameron squeals, wrapping his arms around my legs so tight I nearly lose my balance. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" His excitement sends a flutter through my chest, momentarily pushing away the anxiety about my dwindling funds.

The vendor, a kindly man with weathered hands and laugh lines around his eyes, smiles as I hand over the cash. The last six dollars in my wallet. Gone for a moment of happiness.

"Good choice, little man," he says, carefully selecting a particularly glossy apple from his display. "These are made with local apples picked yesterday. From the Henderson orchard just outside town. Best in the county."

Cameron stands on tiptoes, watching with complete fascination as the vendor wraps a napkin around the stick. He accepts the treat with such reverence you'd think it was made of gold instead of sugar and fruit, with his eyes wide as saucers, mouth slightly open in anticipation.

"Can I eat it now?" he asks, looking up at me for permission, the caramel already glistening in the autumn sunlight.

"Of course," I laugh, kneeling down to his level and wiping a smudge of dirt from his cheek with my thumb. His skin is warm against my cold fingers. "Just be careful not to get it all over your coat. That caramel is sticky business, and I don't need another laundry disaster this week."

We wander through the market until we find an empty bench near a stall selling hot apple cider, the steam rising from their copper kettle in inviting swirls. The scent of cinnamon and cloves hangs in the air. Cameron eagerly climbs up and situates himself between Mom and me, his little legs swinging happily above the ground.

He attacks his prize with surprising patience, methodically working his way around the apple, taking small, deliberate bites as if making it last forever. His face is a picture of pure joy—eyebrows raised, eyes closed with each bite, tiny hums of satisfaction escaping between chews. This moment, this simple pleasure, costs six dollars I can't spare but somehow feels priceless.

"You're a good mother, Laura," Mom says quietly, patting my knee. "Always putting him first."

"Not like I have a choice," I mutter, watching a couple walk by holding fancy coffees that probably cost as much as Cameron's treat.

"You always have a choice. That's what makes it matter." She squeezes my hand. "Your father would be proud."

I swallow hard, pushing down the emotions that always surface when she mentions Dad. He never got to meet Cameron, never saw me struggling to be half the parent he was to me.

"Look, Mommy!" Cameron holds up his apple, now half-eaten. "It's the best thing I ever tasted in my whole life!"

His face is sticky with caramel, his smile so big it makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. In that moment, the six dollars doesn't matter. The bills waiting at home don't matter. Nothing matters except the happiness radiating from my son.

"Worth every penny?" Mom asks knowingly.

I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. Cameron leans against me, offering a sticky bite I politely decline.

"Worth everything," I finally say.

Cameron's curls catch the sunlight, revealing hidden flecks of gold among the dark brown spirals. Those curls, so like his father's texture though darker in shade, frame his perfect face, a beautiful blend of Jacob and me. His skin, a warm honey-brown, glows with childhood vitality, neither as dark as mine nor as pale as Jacob's. His eyes—those are pure Jacob, the shape if not exactly the color. Whenever Cameron looks at me with that particular curious tilt of his head, I see shadows of a past I've tried to forget.

"You look far away, Mommy." Cameron taps my arm, caramel sticking to his fingertips. "Are you thinking 'bout something important?"

"Just thinking about you, baby," I say, smoothing those curls back from his forehead.

But I'm lying. I'm thinking about Jacob Astor. About stolen summer nights six years ago when I was just eighteen, naive enough to believe a rich boy slumming it with the poor kids might actually care about a girl like me. Naive enough to fall hard and fast for his charming smile and promises whispered against my skin.

"I want to know everything about you, Laura," he'd said, tracing my cheekbone with his thumb as we lay beneath the stars at Henderson Lake. "You're different from anyone I've ever met."

Different. Not different enough to make him stay instead of jetting off to Oxford University without a backward glance. Not different enough to tell about the pregnancy.

Cameron takes another bite of his apple, and a dollop of caramel drops onto his jacket. As I wipe it away with a napkin, I wonder where Jacob is right now. Probably in some gleaming skyscraper in London or New York, making million-dollar deals before noon. Or maybe on his family's yacht in the Mediterranean, surrounded by women with perfect bodies and trust funds to match his own.

"Look, baby, there's Mrs. Wilson from the library," Mom points out, distracting Cameron from his treat. "Should we say hello?"

While they wave, I check my phone for the time. My shift at Dolly's Diner starts in two hours. Just enough time to finish at the market, drop Cameron at home with Mom, and change into my blue polyester uniform with the coffee-stained pocket. I'll spend eight hours on my feet, serving plates of meatloaf and refilling coffee cups, smiling for tips while rich college kids complain about the Wi-Fi speed.

Meanwhile, Jacob Astor, heir to the Astor Hotel fortune, probably hasn't carried his own luggage since birth.

"When I grow up," Cameron announces suddenly, apple now reduced to its core, "I'm gonna be a doctor. I'll fix everybody who gets hurt."

My heart squeezes. That dream—helping others through medicine—used to be mine. Two semesters of community college pre-nursing courses before Cameron arrived and reality set in. Now those textbooks collect dust on my bedroom shelf while I collect dinner orders and worry about making rent.

"That's a wonderful dream," I tell him, meaning every word. "You can be anything you want."

Unlike me. Unlike the girl who once had plans, who once believed Jacob when he said, "You're special, Laura. You deserve everything."

What I got instead was everything he left behind: heartbreak, struggle, and this beautiful, brilliant boy who deserves better than a single mom working double shifts at a diner.

Cameron deserves a father. One who would've stayed if he'd known. Or would Jacob have stayed? Would knowing about our son have changed anything? Or would he have simply written a check and continued his perfect, privileged existence?

"Can we get hot chocolate before we go?" Cameron asks, sticky fingers finding mine.

I force away thoughts of Jacob and what might have been. I share a look with my mom, who makes a gesture to let me know she'll cover it. "Sure, sweetie. One hot chocolate coming up."

The bitterness can wait. My son can't.