55 The Northbrook Galleria was crowded for a Tuesday afternoon, shoppers milling between upscale boutiques and artisanal cafés. I pushed little Lucas's stroller through the throng, consulting my mental checklist of supplies still needed for the studio reopening. *Just a few more stops," I promised my increasingly restless son. "Then we'll get ice cream." At the mention of ice cream, Lucas perked up, his previous fussiness forgotten. At thirteen months, he already understood the important words-"ice cream," "cookie," and inexplicably, "chandelier," which he'd been fascinated with since our stay in Paris. 'Let's try Artisan Home for those fabric samples," I said, steering the stroller toward the high-end home good store at the far end of the mall. "Then Mommy needs to stop at the business supply store for- I froze mid-sentence, my heart stuttering in my chest. Standing not twenty feet away, examining a display of watches outside Cartier, was Lucas Bailey. He looked different somehow-his hair slightly longer than the conservative cut he'd maintained during our marriage, his posture more relaxed even in his impeccable suit. But it was unmistakably him, and for a moment, I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't think past the sudden rush of conflicting emotions. I should have anticipated this. Northbrook wasn't that big, especially in the circles we both inhabited. A chance encounter was inevitable. I just hadn't expected it so soon, before I'd had time to prepare, to rehearse what I might say when we finally came face to face again. turned the stroller abruptly, intending to retreat before he noticed us. But little Lucas, spotting a colorful balloon display in a nearby store, let out an excited shriek that echoed through the atrium. Lucas-the elder one-turned reflexively toward the sound, his eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on For a heartbeat, his expression remained neutral, uncomprehending. Then recognition dawned, followed by shock so profound it was almost painful to witness. saw the moment his gaze dropped from my face to the stroller, to the dark-haired little boy strapped inside. Saw the color drain from his face as understanding crashed over him like a physical blow. There was no escape now. I forced my feet to move, pushing the stroller forward as Lucas strode toward us, his pace just short of running. 'Autumn?" His voice was hoarse, disbelieving. 'Is that- He stopped, eyes fixed on the child who was now egarding him with open curiosity. "Is he...?" swallowed hard. "Hello, Lucas." When did you come back?" he demanded, still staring at our son. "Why didn't you tell me? I thought you were still in Paris." We got back last week," I admitted. "I was going to call, I just needed some time to-" 'Some time?" Lucas cut me off, incredulity sharpening his tone. "You've had over a year, Autumn. A year with no word, no photos, nothing. I thought-" He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration I remembered all too well. "I didn't know what to think " Little Lucas, sensing the tension, began to fuss, straining against his stroller straps. Instinctively, I moved to unbuckle him, needing something to do with my trembling hands. 'Don't," Lucas said suddenly. "Don't leave. Please realized I'd been backing away, preparing to flee. "This isn't the place for this conversation." Then where is?" Lucas stepped closer, his voice dropping to an urgent whisper. "You disappeared, Autumn. You let me believe you were coming back with our son, and then you vanished. Again. Do you have any idea what that did to me?" The raw pain in his voice struck me like a physical blow. I'd told myself I had good reasons for cutting contact -that I needed space, that I wasn't ready to face the complications of co-parenting with a man I still had such confused feelings for. But seeing him now, the anguish in his eyes unmistakable, I wondered if I'd been lying o myself. I'm sorry," I said, the words wholly inadequate. "I didn't know how to-" Is he mine?" Lucas interrupted, his gaze returning to the child who was now watching him with solemn attention. "He looks like... but I need to hear you say it." Yes," I whispered. "He's yours. His name is Lucas William Shepherd." Something broke in Lucas's expression-relief and joy and grief all tangled together. He crouched down to eye evel with the stroller, his movements careful, as if approaching something precious and fragile. Lucas," he said softly, testing the name. "You named him after me." Little Lucas regarded this strange man with open curiosity, his head tilted slightly in a gesture so reminiscent of his father that my throat tightened. Then, with the unpredictable sociability of toddlers, he grinned and extended a chubby hand toward Lucas's face. Lucas-my Lucas, the elder one-looked up at me, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "May I?" nodded, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. With gentle hands, Lucas unbuckled our son from the stroller and lifted him, holding him with a mix of awe and terror, as if afraid he might break this small person or be rejected by him. But little Lucas seemed utterly content in his father's arms, patting Lucas's cheeks with curious fingers and babbling in his mixture of real words and nonsense sounds. 'He's perfect" Lucas said, his voice thick with emotion. "So perfect, Autumn. I can't believe I missed-" He Charm 7 Chance mater stopped, swallowing hard. "How old is he now? Thirteen months?" "Almost fourteen, I confirmed. Lucas nodded, absorbing this information with visible effort. "He's walking already?" "And climbing everything in sight. He's fearless." A faint smile touched Lucas's lips. "Like his mother." The unexpected compliment caught me off guard. I'd spent so long thinking of myself as the cautious one, the planner to Lucas's risk-taker. Had he always seen me differently? Around us, shoppers continued their business, occasionally casting curious glances at the tableau we presented-a man in an expensive suit holding a toddler, both of them studying each other with identical expressions of fascination, while I stood awkwardly to the side, caught between the desire to flee and the knowledge that I'd already run too far, too long. "We should go somewhere else," I said finally. "This isn't the place for this conversation." Lucas nodded, reluctantly returning our son to his stroller despite the boy's protests. "My car is in the parking garage. We could go to the penthouse-" "No," I cut him off, the idea of returning to that space-where we'd lived together, where we'd conceived our son-too overwhelming to contemplate. "I'm staying at my father's estate. We could talk there." 'Alright," Lucas agreed, though I could see the disappointment in his eyes. "I'll follow you." As we walked toward the exit, little Lucas twisting in his stroller to keep Lucas in view, I felt as if I were moving through a dream-or perhaps waking from one. The careful life I'd constructed in Paris, the boundaries I'd established, the distance I'd maintained-all of it had collapsed in an instant, leaving me face to face with the reality I'd been avoiding for over a year. Lucas Bailey was back in our lives. And judging by the determined set of his jaw as he walked beside us, he had no intention of leaving again.