Chapter 1

The garden buzzed, a gentle hum of conversation and clinking glasses under the late spring sun. Our home, a testament to Charles' s success and my careful stewardship, always felt most alive when filled with people celebrating. Today, it was for Sam. My Sam.

He stood near the old oak, taller than I remembered, laughing with his friends. His high school graduation. It felt like just yesterday Charles and I were bringing him home from that small, sterile hospital room.

I watched him, a warmth spreading through my chest, a feeling I' d guarded fiercely for eighteen years. He was intelligent, kind, everything a mother could hope for. Yale was next, a future bright and limitless.

"He's a good boy, Eleanor," Mrs. Davenport, a neighbor whose family had known ours for generations, said beside me.

"He is," I agreed, my voice soft. "He takes after his father."

Later, as the afternoon mellowed, I gathered everyone. The caterers paused, conversations lulled. Sam looked at me, a curious smile playing on his lips.

"To Sam," I raised my glass, the crystal catching the light. "For all your hard work, for the wonderful young man you've become, and for the bright future ahead at Yale."

A chorus of cheers. Sam' s cheeks flushed a little, but his eyes shone with pride.

"And," I continued, my voice steady, "your father, Charles, always wanted you to have a strong start. He left something for you, a portfolio of stocks, for this very day."

I handed him a leather-bound folder. His eyes widened as he opened it. A significant sum, enough to give him independence, a foundation. This was what Charles would have wanted, a secure future for our son. This was our legacy. Contentment settled over me, a fragile, precious thing. The day felt perfect.