Chapter 1: Sold, Then Forgotten

When I was fourteen, my father sold me off—just like that—to the richest man in Maple Heights, making me his second wife.

Even now, the memory burns. I see it all: my father’s rough handshake with Mr. Carter in our dusty backyard, the thick envelope of cash changing hands, and the way Dad wouldn’t meet my eyes. Folks in small towns like ours, they turn a blind eye when a deal like that goes down. But the whispers? Those stick around for years.

I raised Holly, still swaddled in baby blankets back then. But then Robert Carter brought home his new wife, and she tossed me out on the street like yesterday’s trash.

That baby—Holly—she was everything to me. I learned to rock her through long, lonely nights, humming half-remembered lullabies from my own childhood. But once Robert Carter came home with a new wife—someone with a college degree and family name—I was nothing more than a leftover. She kicked me out without a second thought. My suitcase barely zipped. The door slammed behind me. Just like that.

I was nearly frozen to death when a broke college kid found me and took me in.

Coldest winter in years. My fingers were so numb I couldn’t even cry. That’s when Ryan found me, shivering on the church steps, and wrapped his own scarf around my shoulders. He didn’t have much—just a drafty attic apartment and a heart too big for his own good. Still, he made space for me. He gave me his last can of soup, even though he was starving too. I remember thinking, Maybe this is what kindness really feels like.

I sewed and did odd jobs to support him while he studied for the bar exam. But then I heard he’d passed—and just like that, he married a senator’s daughter.

I took in mending, scrubbed floors, even watched the neighbor’s kids for a few bucks—anything to keep us both afloat. Ryan would stay up late, textbooks spread across the kitchen table, muttering legal terms under his breath. I used to dream that when he passed the bar, things would finally get better for us. But when the news came, it was all over town—Ryan was marrying up, way up, to a senator’s daughter. He never even said goodbye. Not even a note.

Holly sat cross-legged on the faded rug, arms folded, pouting. She muttered, “Why does Mom always meet such mean people?”

She had that stubborn little frown on her face. Kids see more than we think, don’t they? Her words stung. Still, I couldn’t help but smile at her fierce loyalty.

I smiled and pinched her little cheek. “Honey, Uncle Ryan didn’t marry me, but that doesn’t make him a bad guy.”

Her cheeks were soft and warm beneath my fingers. I tried to keep my voice light, like this was all just some funny story from the past. Sometimes, sweetheart, people just make choices that don’t include us. That’s all. But it still hurts.

Suddenly, the rickety front door blew open, a gust of wind and snow swirling in. The wind slammed the door against the wall. Someone stormed in, voice tight: “Who said I didn’t marry you?”

The wind rattled the windows, and I jumped. The voice was unmistakable—Ryan, standing in the doorway, cheeks flushed from the cold, eyes blazing. For a second, the whole room seemed to hold its breath. My heart stopped.

The first time I saw Holly, she was just a month old. Her little face was wrinkled and pale, so tiny and thin.

She was so tiny back then—her face all scrunched up, fists balled, the softest fuzz of hair on her head. I remember thinking she looked more like a baby bird than a person. So fragile, I was afraid to hold her at first. But when she opened her eyes and stared at me, something inside me just melted.

I was only fourteen myself. My father, deep in debt from drinking and gambling, wanted to sell me to the Carter family to be this little girl’s stepmom.

I still remember the way my father slurred his words that night, breath heavy with whiskey. He saw the Carter family as his ticket out. It didn’t matter that I was just a kid—he signed me away like old furniture.

Robert Carter was the richest man in Maple Heights. I never would’ve even been in the running, not for his second wife.

The Carters lived in the big white house on the hill, with a wraparound porch and a new Cadillac in the driveway. They were the kind of people who donated to the church every Sunday. Folks like us didn’t even get invited to their Christmas parties.

But his mother was worried about bringing in someone greedy for money. She saw me playing with Holly, just a kid myself, and that was enough for her. She simply agreed to my father’s offer.

Mrs. Carter was sharp, always watching. She saw me on the floor, tickling Holly’s feet, making her giggle. I guess she figured a kid like me wouldn’t have the smarts to scheme for their fortune. She said yes before my father sobered up enough to realize what he’d done.

I wore a borrowed dress, shoes too big, my hair in awkward braids. On the wedding day, Robert stood stiff as a board. He wouldn’t even look at me. “You’re just a kid,” he muttered, voice rough. “I can’t—” He left the rest unsaid.