She shakes her head, still stunned. “So you and Boone were together for, like, two years, and no one stopped to do the math?”
“Four years,” I say quietly. “And no. I guess not.”
“Jesus, Lark.”
“I know.”
Miller shakes her head, grabbing her glass again. “You have to tell him.”
I open my mouth to argue, but she cuts me off. “What if he’s here to stay for good?”
I freeze, gripping my wine glass tighter.
“Summit Springs is too small for him to not find out eventually,” she continues. “The fact that his family doesn’t know yet is a miracle in and of itself, but Boone and his siblings come to town more often than Mollydoes. And people talk, Lark. You think someone’s not going to put two and two together eventually, especially with Boone being back and his little clone walking around?”
It wasn’t meant to be a secret. I just didn’t know, not right away.
The nausea came and went. So did the dizziness. I figured it was stress—working late at the diner, not getting enough sleep, finishing up my senior year, helping Alice plan my dad’s funeral. I’d been grieving and my body was in survival mode. I stopped keeping track of my cycle somewhere in the middle of all that chaos. It wasn’t intentional. It just…slipped. Everything had.
Until one day, standing behind the counter at Bluebell, it hit me that I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had it.
I was already five months along before a doctor confirmed it.
I tried to tell him. Sat on Alice’s porch night after night with a pen in one hand and a blank sheet of paper in the other. Wrote letters I didn’t know how to finish. Called the base. Left messages. They told me that new recruits couldn’t respond right away. That I could write, but there were no promises.
So I wrote. Again and again. Told him I needed to talk. Told him it was important. Begged him to call.
And then I waited.
No letters. No phone calls. Just silence.
By the time Hudson was born, the silence was loud enough to feel like an answer.
I never showed up at the ranch. Never called Molly. Never knocked on the front door with a baby on my hip and asked someone else to fix what I couldn’t.
I knew what would happen. They’d take him in without hesitation. They’d love him, raise him, protect him—because that’s what Wildings do. They take care of their own. They don’t half-love anything. But Boone? He would’ve come back, even if he didn’t want to. He would’ve done the right thing because that’s who he is. And I couldn’t risk Hudson growing up as someone’s obligation.
I wanted him to be a choice. I didn’t want Boone to resent me for making him put his life on pause when he clearly didn’t want to be here in the first place.
Hudson was mine, and mine alone. And I was going to keep it that way.
I take another long sip of wine, letting it sit on my tongue before swallowing. It’s ridiculous how good this bottle is.
“I don’t even know where to go from here,” I admit. “Legally, is there anything I can do to make sure Hudson stays with me?”
Miller sighs, swirling the wine in her glass before taking another slow sip. “Is Boone listed on the birth certificate as his father?”
I nod, pressing my fingers into my temples. “Yeah.”
She leans forward, elbows on her knees. “That means he already has legal rights. Technically, he could petition for custody if he wanted to.”
My stomach twists.
“But,” she continues, holding up a finger, “that doesn’t mean he automatically gets it.”
I exhale, slumping back against the couch.
Miller watches me for a beat, her green eyes taking me apart piece by piece, the way she always does. “Look, Lark, you’ve been Hudson’s sole guardian for twelve years. You’ve provided for him, given him a stable home, put him first in every possible way. The court isn’t going to overlook that. Judges care about continuity, about keeping a kid’s life as steady as possible. Boone might be his father, but he’s never been his parent.”
