Chapter 2: Shattered Promises

The day my father was arrested, Caleb Foster brought back his newly divorced childhood sweetheart.

The house was humming with whispers. Out on the wraparound porch, I watched neighbors pretend not to stare as the sheriff’s car pulled away. I barely had time to breathe before Caleb appeared at my bedroom door, Lauren’s luggage in tow.

He came to my bedroom and told me, his tone distant:

“Seven days from now, I’ll marry Lauren as my second wife.”

His words echoed off the wallpaper, sharp as the scent of lemons from the tree outside. There was no hint of apology, only a finality that made my heart drop.

“I’ve hurt her enough. Even if you’re not okay with it, you’ll just have to deal with it for now.”

He said it like a judge delivering a verdict. I stared at the pattern on my comforter, feeling the world tilt beneath my feet. Lauren stood just outside, silent, her presence a shadow on the threshold.

My father had just been thrown in jail.

The house still carried the heat of Dad’s absence—no laughter echoing from his study, no scuff of his boots by the front door. Even the air seemed heavier, as if the live oaks themselves were holding their breath.

He wasn’t even willing to wait a single day.

No pause for mourning, no moment of respect. Just a clean break, as if love could be scheduled between courthouse appointments.

I looked up at him.

His eyes were cold, like a late March frost—

Not a trace of affection.

Even the gold flecks I’d once thought warm seemed dulled now, the blue of his eyes as unyielding as winter ice. He didn’t flinch; he didn’t blink.

Three years of marriage, and I still couldn’t win his heart.

I turned away quickly, trying to hide my sorrow.

“All right...”

My voice barely above a whisper, swallowed by the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the hall. I traced the edge of my pillowcase, fingers trembling.

After all, I was about to leave.

It didn’t matter who he brought into the house.

Caleb seemed a little surprised. His lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, he said nothing.

He had always been sparing with words when it came to me.

After he left, I opened my jewelry box and took out a slip of paper hidden under my necklaces.

It was the divorce agreement Caleb had written for me three years ago.

His signature and fingerprint were there. All I needed to do was hand it to the county clerk, and we could part ways cleanly.

The lines were blurred now from years of being handled, but the truth was plain as day—a signature, a thumbprint, a future I’d never dared to claim.