A fragile flicker of hope stirred in my chest that Ethan might actually step up as a father once he looked his son in the face.

Which document in my leather briefcase would force Ethan to admit he had received the hospital notices eight years ago?

I took the paper bag from the clerk and handed it to Lucas.

“Keep your yard work money in your pocket,” I said.

“We need to buy ice melt before three o’clock.”

Lucas tucked the book under his arm like an official blueprint folder and led the way to the glass exit doors.

At three o’clock, the mountain wind picked up off the west ridge, driving fine powder snow across the cabin driveway.