Chapter 1

The night my husband celebrated another boy's college acceptance, our own son lay in the ICU, waiting for his father to show up.

"Where are you and Liam?"

Annoyance sharpened every word Mark said.

"I've spent all night dealing with Jason's accident, and I haven't eaten a thing. I come home, the kitchen's cold, and no one answers the phone. You couldn't even leave me a plate of food?"

I sat in the hospital hallway with Liam's rain-soaked delivery jacket in my arms.

Inside one pocket, I found a pack of pain patches he'd bought for me.

"I'm at the hospital," I said.

"What is it this time?"

"Liam..."

"Grace, I've already got enough to deal with tonight. Jason just got into college. He took the car out to celebrate, and some idiot on a bike rode straight into him. Linda's a wreck, and I'm stuck handling the insurance."

Mark let out a long breath.

"Whatever it is can wait. Linda's calling again."

He hung up.

I stared at the dark screen, a lump forming in my throat.

Two hours earlier, the hospital had called to tell me Liam had been hit by an SUV while making a delivery. The impact threw him several yards, and his back struck a stone curb. He was unconscious when the ambulance brought him in.

I'd called Mark six times.

He hadn't answered once.

When I reached the hospital, a nurse handed me Liam's belongings.

A shattered phone. His latest pay envelope. A food order he'd never delivered.

Liam had written a message on the back of the envelope.

"Mom, I'll cover the heating bill this month."

Liam was twenty. He'd been working since he was sixteen.

Mark always said college wasn't in our budget, so Liam took whatever jobs he could find. He mowed lawns, washed cars, and scrubbed dishes at a restaurant.

Now he took prerequisite classes at the local community college during the day and delivered food at night.

He never complained.

A week ago, I'd asked why he wouldn't buy himself a new pair of waterproof shoes. He'd laughed and said the old ones still had some life left in them. Every dollar mattered if he wanted to make it to college.

Now those shoes sat beneath his hospital bed, soaked through and streaked with mud.

A doctor came out of the ICU.

"Mrs. Carter, your son's vital signs have stabilized for now."

I shot to my feet.

"When will he wake up?"

"His spine took a significant impact, and we're seeing signs of oxygen deprivation. We need more tests before we can tell you anything else."

"Will he be able to walk?"

The doctor couldn't give me an answer.

Two police officers approached from the other end of the hallway.

One of them told me the driver had already contacted the police. He claimed Liam had swerved into his lane and struck his SUV.

"Who was driving?" I asked.

"Jason Reed. He's twenty-one."

My fingertips went cold.

The officer continued. "The SUV is registered to Mark Carter. Do you know him?"

Of course I did.

Mark was my husband.

I had no idea he'd bought an SUV.

The officer showed me a photograph from the crash scene. The front of the black SUV was crushed. A gold ribbon stretched across the windshield.

It read:

"Congratulations, Jason! Best of luck in college!"

My phone lit up again.

Mark had sent me a message.

"Jason's scared enough already. You and Liam need to stop making things harder for me."