Chapter 3

After Ian was discharged, I made a decision—to get back into the restaurant industry.

I'd been in the business before he was born.

My kind landlady helped me spread the word.

After three grueling months, business at the restaurant was booming, and even Ian seemed genuinely happy for me.

He wrapped his arms around me and uttered his first full sentence:

“Mom…my…I’ll…grow…up…fast…and…help…you.”

He was true to his word. By six, when I returned with groceries, he’d be up, ready to help with whatever he could.

During a follow-up visit to the hospital, the doctor was especially pleased with Ian's progress.

After chatting with Ian alone for about half an hour, the doctor handed me a drawing.

He pointed to the family of three in the picture and told me that Ian still longed for a father’s love and a complete family.

By then, my little diner was finally bringing in a steady income.

A thought, one I still loathe myself for, crept into my mind.

I thought, now that I could earn money and Ian was improving, we weren't a burden to Daniel anymore.

He’d had his fun for half a year, surely he’d had enough?

Maybe we still had a chance to get back together.

For Ian’s sake, I was willing to set aside all my hurt and resentment.

But when I took Ian and returned to Riverton to see Daniel, he was in Iceland, chasing the Northern Lights with his new girlfriend.

Ian squeezed my hand:

“Mom, let’s go home. I don’t need a dad!”

In that moment, I mourned Daniel as if he were dead.

Perhaps fate had taken pity on us; Ian and I grew stronger.

Not just my business, but his health too.

Because we met my current husband, Hunter Peterson.

From the moment I started planning my restaurant, needing part-time help, he was always there, working odd shifts.

Later, I learned he was a brilliant business management grad.

His dream, just like mine, was to open a restaurant.

Naturally, we fell in love and got married.

Now, with Hunter’s constant presence, Ian was practically indistinguishable from any other kid his age.

We also had our own child.

And my restaurant business had grown to three locations, each one more bustling and profitable than the last.

So, facing Daniel’s sneering remark, I immediately retorted:

“You’re wrong. A divorced woman, even one with an autistic child, *is* loved.”

He laughed then.

“Sarah, I’m not trying to be mean, but you? No makeup, always bare-faced? Who would even give you a second glance? And with that baggage of a kid, what man would ever want you?”

I didn't hold back. I pointed at the deep wrinkles around his eyes, clicking my tongue in mock pity:

“Looks like you’re aging faster than I am! Are you too old to keep up with the young girls? Are they finally tired of your act? Is that why you’re coming back to me? I don’t recycle trash, especially not the kind that’s this utterly filthy!”