Chapter 1: The Broken Promise

On the day I turned seventeen, Caleb broke his promise.

I’d spent weeks counting down, certain this birthday would be different. Instead, it started with the kind of ache that settles in your bones and won’t let go. The air was thick with that late March chill that always lingers a little too long in upstate New York. My birthday, supposed to be a day for cake and laughter, instead started with an ache I couldn’t shake off. The house smelled faintly of lemon polish and old books, reminders of all the years I’d spent under someone else’s roof.

He went with Councilman Jennings’s granddaughter to the outskirts of Maple Heights to see the first spring blossoms.

Word travels fast in a small town. I watched them leave from the upstairs window, Rachel’s laughter carrying even through the closed glass. She wore the kind of sundress that caught every breeze, and Caleb let her link her arm through his like they’d been doing it their whole lives. For a split second, I thought about calling out—reminding him of his promise—but I bit my tongue. My fingers dug into the windowsill. I wanted to shout, to remind him of the promise he made last summer under the old sycamore. But my voice stayed locked inside, swallowed by the cold glass.

And I, carrying my mother’s keepsakes, went to the main house.

My hands trembled as I held the faded shoebox, corners worn from years spent under my bed. Inside were photos from Dad’s deployment, Mom’s favorite scarf still smelling faintly of lilac, and the silver locket that was all I had left of her. Each step down the hallway echoed, making me feel smaller than ever.

Not to ask Mrs. Thompson for help, but to say goodbye.

I rehearsed my goodbye in my head a dozen times—soft, polite, dignified. The way Mrs. Thompson taught me. I imagined her nodding in approval, her lips pressed in that thin line she always wore when things got too sentimental. I pressed my palm to the doorknob, feeling the cool brass, and took a steadying breath.