Chapter 1 — The Crayon That Escaped

Damon Prescott was still arguing with the flight attendant when a red crayon rolled out of economy class and stopped against his polished black shoe. He looked down in irritation.

Then a little boy ran into the aisle, lifted his face, and stared at Damon with the exact green eyes Damon saw in the mirror every morning.

“Sorry,” the child said. “My crayon escaped.”

For the first time in years, Damon Prescott forgot what he’d been angry about.

The boy couldn’t have been older than two or three. Sandy-brown hair curled stubbornly above his forehead, and a faint dimple appeared in his left cheek when he smiled.

Damon had the same dimple, though he had trained himself not to smile often enough for anyone to notice it.

Damon bent slowly and picked up the crayon. “What’s your name?”

“Luke.”

A woman’s voice came from several rows back. “Luke, sweetheart, come here.”

Damon stopped breathing. He knew that voice. He had heard it laughing in a cramped Denver apartment when they could barely afford takeout. He had heard it whispering promises in the dark.

He had heard it break three years earlier, when the woman he loved told him to leave and never come back.

Damon raised his head. Cassandra Hayes stood in row twenty-eight with a little girl balanced on one hip. Her dark hair was shorter than he remembered, brushing her shoulders in soft waves.