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CHAPTER 1
Colby
The papers landed on my workbench like a slap to the face.
I’d been running my hand along the grain of a custom dining table, checking for imperfections, when my phone buzzed. Lyla’s name flashed across the screen, and I’d made the mistake of answering. She didn’t waste time with pleasantries.
“Check your email, Colby. I’m done playing games.”
The line went dead before I could ask what the hell she meant. I wiped sawdust from my hands and pulled up my email, squinting at the screen through my protective eyewear. The subject line made my blood run cold:Petition for Modification of Custody Agreement.
My fingers trembled as I scrolled through the legal document. Words jumped out at me like accusations:unstable environment,inconsistent caregiving,lack of proper family structure. Lyla wanted full custody of Luca.
She wanted to take my son away from me.
I sank onto the wooden stool I’d built three years ago. The same week Lyla had walked out, leaving Luca behind so she could find herself. My chest tightened, making it hard to breathe.
Six years old.
Luca was only six years old, and she wanted to rip him away from the only stable home he’d ever known.
The workshop door creaked open, and afternoon sunlight streamed in. “Dad?”
Luca stood in the doorway, his dark hair sticking up in twelve different directions, just like mine did when I forgot to comb it. He wore his favorite Spider-Man shirt, the one with a small hole near the left shoulder that I kept meaning to throw away but couldn’t bring myself to touch. Lyla would have replaced it months ago.
“Hey, buddy.” I forced a smile and minimized the email screen. “Just working on Mrs. Henderson’s table. What’s up?”
He shuffled closer, his mismatched socks—one blue, one green—sliding across the concrete floor. “What time am I going to Miss Kay’s?”
Shit. I’d completely forgotten about dinner with my best friend and confidant, Gianna. We’d planned to try that new Italian place downtown, just the two of us for once. Luca was supposed to stay with my neighbor, Kay Redman, but I’d been so consumed with work and then the custody papers that everything else had fled my mind.
“Yeah, I forgot,” I said, ruffling his hair. “Did you finish your homework?”
“Yep. Math was easy. Reading . . .” He scrunched up his face. “There were big words.”
“We’ll work on those tonight.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. Seven-thirty. Gianna had probably been waiting at the restaurant for an hour. “Go wash up for dinner. I’ll make us some mac and cheese.”
Luca brightened. “The kind with the little hot dogs?”
“The kind with the little hot dogs,” I said gleefully.
He raced back toward the door, which led into our kitchen, and I was alone again with the weight of Lyla’s ultimatum. I read through the petition once more, my anger building with each page. She claimed I worked too many hours, that Luca spent too much time with “inappropriate caregivers”—a not-so-subtle dig at Mrs. Redman and Gianna. She painted me as an absent father who prioritized his business over his son.
It was all bullshit, but I knew how these things worked. Lyla had money, connections, and the natural advantage of being Luca’s mother. What did I have? A woodworking business that required long hours, a support system she could dismiss as inadequate, and a track record of failed relationships.
My phone rang again. Gianna’s name appeared on the screen, and guilt twisted in my stomach.
“Hey,” I answered, trying to sound normal.
“Colby Marshall, you stood me up.” Her voice carried that teasing tone she used when she was half-annoyed, half-worried. “I ordered appetizers and everything. The waiter kept giving me pitying looks.”
“I’m sorry, G. Something came up.”
The silence stretched between us. Gianna knew me too well. She could hear the strain in my voice, the careful way I was choosing my words.
“I’m coming over,” she said.
“You don’t have to?—”