Page 59 of Hometown Heart

"Does he?" I wiped my hands dry, each movement deliberate and controlled.

"Maybe when he visits his sister in Boston. It's not that far from here." Cody bit into the apple, the crisp sound punctuating the silence between us. "Can I finish my homework in my room?"

"Sure, bud."

He disappeared up the stairs, leaving me alone with the remnants of dinner and a growing sense of dread. Edward hadn't shown interest in Cody's hockey since we'd moved.

It had been our thing—practices before dawn, weekend games, and countless hours shooting pucks in the driveway. Edward had been too busy working sixty hours a week to attend more than a handful of games back in New York.

Now, suddenly, he was an engaged hockey parent? The timing couldn't have been worse—just as we'd found our footing in Whistleport and Cody had started to flourish.

I finished the dishes with mechanical motions while my mind replayed fragments of the negotiations over custody agreements and visitation schedules.

Our arrangement was amicable but firm: I had primary custody, with Edward taking Cody for holidays and part of summer break. We'd both agreed the plan was best for Cody's stability.

But what if Edward changed his mind?

The kitchen clock ticked away the seconds. I dried the last plate with unnecessary thoroughness.

Later, Cody curled against me on the couch, his attention divided between a book and his occasional glances at his phone.

"This chapter's weird," he muttered, flipping a page. "The dog keeps coming back to this one spot but won't let the kid get close."

"Maybe the dog is looking for something," I suggested, my arm draped around his shoulders, holding him perhaps a fraction tighter than usual.

"Maybe." He yawned. "Or maybe dogs just don't make sense sometimes."

"That's true of most things in life, bud."

He looked up at me, his expression curious. "Are you okay? You seem kind of quiet."

"Just tired." I recognized that as what Silas said to avoid interrogations and forced a smile. "Thinking about that display case on the far wall. Still need to finish sanding the back panel."

Cody settled back against me, satisfied with the explanation. I stared at the top of his head, at the cowlick that refused to lie flat no matter how much I wetted it down in the mornings. He had a small scar near his hairline from when he'd fallen learning to skate.

So many memories of our shared life began to flood back. The thought of losing any of it made me nauseous.

I tucked Cody into his bed around nine but found him standing in my doorway an hour later; pillow clutched against his chest. "Can't sleep," he mumbled, eyes heavy with drowsiness.

Now he lay curled beside me at 2 a.m., one arm flung above his head, breath escaping in soft, whistling exhales through slightly parted lips. His presence should have been comforting—instead, it heightened my awareness of how much suddenly felt at stake.

Edward's call played on repeat in my mind, each imagined word more intrusive than the last. What exactly had he said? Had he hinted at wanting more time? Was he making conversation or laying the groundwork for something more disruptive?

I rolled onto my side, watching Cody's profile in the dim light. The slope of his nose mirrored mine, but his cheeks were stillsoft from childhood. People often remarked on our resemblance despite no biological connection. "He has your expressions," strangers would say, not realizing they were witnessing learned behavior instead of genetic inheritance.

Would a judge see that? Would the law recognize the thousands of small moments that had knit us together—the mundane Tuesday mornings and endless hockey practices that formed the backbone of our relationship?

I thought back to when Cody was seven, the night a brutal stomach flu had ripped through him. I'd sat on the bathroom floor, my back against the tub, while he dozed fitfully in my lap between bouts of vomiting. My legs had gone numb, but I'd stayed motionless for hours, afraid any movement might wake him during those precious minutes of relief.

Edward had been in Chicago that week. He was away on a business trip.

It wasn't a unique memory. I'd been the one to handle fevers, nightmares, and homework frustrations. It wasn't because Edward was a terrible parent, but we'd slipped into our roles organically. I became the primary caregiver while Edward built his career.

The arrangement had made sense then. It made sense now. So, why would he suddenly want to change it?

A car passed outside, headlights briefly illuminating the ceiling before disappearing. In their wake, the darkness was heavier.

I eased myself out of bed, careful not to disturb Cody. The floorboards creaked beneath my feet as I made my way down the hall to his bedroom. The door stood ajar, exactly as he'd left it hours earlier.

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