Chapter 1The Grave of the Son You Traded for Her

Five years after the divorce was finalized, my best friend, Olivia, called to deliver the news, her voice heavy with that familiar, weary resignation.

“Maddie, it’s a small world. You’re going to run into him eventually, and when you do—”

“I won’t,” I cut her off.

“I will never cross paths with Grant Montgomery again. Not in this lifetime.”

The second I hung up, a friend request popped up on my screen.

The profile picture was a landscape photo I’d taken years ago, a random snapshot from a college road trip.

The verification box read: “I’m back. Can we meet?”

“I have something very important I need to tell you in person.”

Important matters?

I stared at those two words, a bitter laugh bubbling up in my throat. What could possibly be important between us?

Was it the crucial legal work my parents did, clearing his family’s name, only for him to bankrupt and displace them in return?

Was it the way I helped him build the Montgomery Group from the ground up, nearly bleeding out in a restroom from entertaining old-money clients, only to find him cheating repeatedly, defiling our new home with another woman?

Or was it his final, monstrous act: canceling our son’s surgery, locking us both in the wine cellar to teach me a lesson, which ultimately cost Jamie his life?

What on earth could be important now?

I pushed the sickening memories back, dragging his profile picture and the associated number into the digital abyss of the permanent block list.

* * *

After ending Olivia’s call, another message arrived, this time from Chelsea, our university class representative.

She was asking if I would attend the alumni reunion this year. She added a hurried, sympathetic note: “I completely understand if you don’t want to go. Everyone knows the situation, and we all support you.”

She followed up with a few more carefully worded paragraphs of comfort and advice.

I looked at the dense block of text and found it strangely amusing. I had found peace, but everyone around me seemed stuck in the tumultuous history of it all. Perhaps our spectacular, dramatic fall had left too deep a mark.

But I was truly past it.

Now, I had to actively search my memory to recall what Grant Montgomery’s face looked like. Yet, he had once been my most cherished person, closer than family. We were an ecosystem. We attended the same schools, from grade school through university, and studied abroad together.

My phone alarm blared, interrupting the rewind.

It was time for the truly important thing.

I parked the car at the base of the mountain trail, took a deep breath, and started up the path toward the chapel.

The young novitiate saw me and smiled immediately. “Ms. Stone, you’re back!”

I handed him the gift bag. He took it, his expression thoughtful.

“Ms. Stone, you’ve come here every year for five years, at the exact same hour and minute. Why is that?”

I offered a small smile but didn't answer. I walked directly to the back of the chapel grounds, to a small, private meditation room that was always locked.

Inside, the room was simple. There was only one small altar. On it sat a lone, solitary memorial plaque.

I opened the large bag and began placing the items on the table.

“The toy store clerk said these were the biggest hits this year,” I whispered, carefully arranging the small figures. “I don’t know if you’re into heroes and villains up there, but I grabbed a few different action figures.”

“And this mystery box. They say you can pull a hidden chase item. You’d love trying to find it.”

After the toys, I laid out a pile of candy.

“They probably don’t make you brush your teeth over there, right?” I chuckled, the sound brittle. “So you can eat all the chocolate you want before bed. No cavities. Haha.”

My laughter caught in my throat, and the tears started to fall.

I gently wiped the inscription on the plaque: Beloved Son, Jamie Stone, Placed by Mother, Madison Stone.

The line for the father’s name remained empty.