Chapter 4
Sam - Two Days After Chloe’s Birthday
“No more handing over cash.”
Arthur Halloway leaned back in his leather chair, his weathered hands folded across the mahogany desk between us.
The senior partner at Halloway, Finch & Associates had to be pushing seventy, but his eyes were sharp behind wire-rimmed glasses as he studied me with the kind of penetrating gaze that made me feel like a kid caught stealing candy.
“I understand, but she needed—”
“I don’t care what she needed, son.” His tone was firm but not unkind.
“From this moment forward, everything gets documented. Every dollar you spend on this child — if he is indeed your child — gets paid by card, so there’s a paper trail.
You keep a spreadsheet. Dates, amounts, what it was for.
And you keep me updated on every interaction. ”
I nodded, feeling like I was already drowning in the complexity of this situation. I’d driven here first thing this morning because I knew I needed help. Real help before I made any more mistakes. Arthur had handled my business incorporation and the property purchase for The Copper Fox.
But I wasn’t here just for advice on handling Jenna. I needed to understand my rights, my obligations, and most importantly, how this would affect Chloe and me.
“I need to understand what I’m looking at here,” I said. “Backdated child support — if he’s mine, what does that look like? Four years of payments I’ve missed. And does Jenna have any claim on my assets? The bar, my house?”
Arthur held up a hand. “Paternity test. Before we discuss any financial arrangements, any custody considerations, any legal obligations whatsoever, paternity test.”
“But Arthur, you should see him. He has my eyes, my cowlick, even the way he concentrates on things—”
“I’ve been practicing law for forty-three years, Sam.
You know how many times I’ve heard ‘you just have to look at him to know’?
” He shook his head slowly. “I’ve seen men convinced they were fathers who weren’t.
I’ve seen men convinced they couldn’t be fathers who were.
Physical resemblance means nothing in a court of law. DNA means everything.”
“I know he’s mine,” I said quietly.
“Maybe he is. Probably he is, based on what you’ve told me about the timeline and the mother’s certainty.
But we don’t build legal and financial arrangements on ‘probably.’ We build them on documented facts.
” He pulled out a legal pad and made a note.
“I’ll give you the name of a lab that can do expedited testing.
You’ll need samples from you, the child, and ideally the mother, though maternal samples aren’t strictly necessary. ”
“How long for results?”
“Standard processing is seven to ten business days. Expedited can be as fast as 24 hours.” He looked at me over his glasses. “But you do pay for it. I’m assuming you want the fastest option available?”
“Yes. Whatever it costs.”
“Fine. Get the samples done immediately, pay for the 24-hour rush, and we’ll have answers within a day or two at most. Once — and only once — we have confirmation, then we discuss child support, custody arrangements, and a formal agreement with the mother.”
I ran my hands through my hair, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on me. “And in the meantime? She’s staying in motels with a four-year-old. I can’t just—”
“You can, and you will, document everything.” Arthur’s voice was stern.
“If you pay for a motel room, you pay with your credit card, and you save the receipt. If you buy the child anything — clothing, food, toys — credit card, receipt, spreadsheet entry. If you meet with them, you note the date, time, location, and duration in your records. Do you understand why this matters?”
“To protect myself legally?”
“To protect yourself, yes. But also to protect the child.” His expression softened slightly.
“If this woman is genuinely in need and you are the father, proper documentation ensures everything is handled correctly from the start. If she’s not genuine — and I’m not saying she isn’t, but I’ve seen desperate people do desperate things — you need proof of exactly what you’ve provided and when. ”
The desperation in Jenna’s voice had seemed real. But Arthur was right that I needed to be careful.
“One more thing,” Arthur said, his tone gentler now. “Try not to get too emotionally attached to the child until the paternity test comes back.”
Too late for that. The moment Leo had asked if I was his daddy, something had shifted in my chest. But I just nodded.
“I have to ask this,” Arthur continued, his expression serious. “If the test comes back positive, is there any chance of you and this woman getting back together?”
“What? No. Absolutely not. Zero chance.” The answer came without hesitation.
“Jenna and I were a summer fling five years ago. We had fun, but there was never anything deeper there. If she goes back to Chicago, I’ll provide financial support and work out visitation based on what works for Leo, Chloe, and me.
If she stays here in the area, we’ll co-parent.
That’s it. There’s no scenario where Jenna and I become a couple. ”
Arthur nodded, making a note. “Good. That simplifies things considerably. Courts look more favorably on arrangements where the parents have a clear, professional co-parenting relationship rather than complicated romantic entanglements.”
“The only woman I want a future with is Chloe,” I said firmly. “That’s why I need to know how this affects us. What Jenna could potentially claim, what my obligations are. I need to protect what Chloe and I are building.”
“Understood.” Arthur set down his pen and fixed me with that penetrating stare again. “So how is Chloe taking all of this?”
The question landed like a punch to the gut.
???
The peonies felt absurdly inadequate in my hands. Two bunches of pale pink flowers, like that would somehow make up for the bomb I was about to drop on our relationship.
I’d been pacing next to my truck for five minutes, rehearsing what to say. Chloe, something happened during dinner last night. I got a message from someone I knew years ago. She says I have a son.
No, that was too blunt.
Chloe, I need to tell you something, and I should have told you last night, but I panicked.
That made it sound like I’d done something wrong. Which I had, but—
Chloe, I love you, and I need you to know that before I tell you this.
God, that sounded like a breakup.
The truth was simple: I’d made a massive mistake.
The moment I’d gotten those photos and Jenna’s message, I should have shown them to Chloe right there at the restaurant.
“Look at this. This woman says this is my son. I have no idea what’s happening, but we’ll figure it out together. ” That’s what I should have done.
Instead, I’d lied. Then I’d compounded that lie by going to meet Jenna alone, by making decisions without consulting the woman I wanted to spend my life with.
Chloe dealt with life-and-death situations regularly. She was strong enough to handle difficult truths. What she couldn’t handle — what she shouldn’t have to handle — was being lied to.
I took a deep breath and headed for the front door, my heart hammering. I’d tell her everything. Show her the photos, explain about Jenna, admit that I’d panicked and handled everything wrong. We’d figure this out together, the way we should have from the beginning.
I pushed open the front door. “Chloe? I’m home.”
Silence.
I set the groceries on the kitchen counter and spotted a note stuck to the refrigerator in Chloe’s distinctive handwriting:
Sleepover at the Jenkins! Mrs. Jenkins called — several of the mamas are having trouble with delivery. Might be there all night. Will text updates. Love you!
P.S. - It’s ALPACA BABY TIME!!!!!
Despite everything, I smiled. Chloe loved alpacas with the kind of pure, uncomplicated joy that most people reserved for puppies and kittens.
She’d been thrilled when the Jenkins family had moved to the area last year with their small alpaca farm, and Mrs. Jenkins had started calling Chloe for all their veterinary needs.
“Sleepover” was Chloe’s funny way of saying she’d been called out for a late-night emergency and would probably be there until dawn.
The Jenkins farm was at the end of a winding country road that was treacherous even in daylight — narrow, unpaved, with a tendency to wash out during rain.
If Chloe was there past midnight, it was safer for her to crash in their guest room than risk the drive home in the dark.
I pulled out my phone and saw two text messages that arrived while I’d been driving home with flowers:
Just got here. Buttercup is doing great, but this is going to take a while. I’m snuggling with three babies!!!
Mrs. Jenkins is making me tea and cookies. I might never leave. Tell the clinic to find a new vet, I’m an alpaca farmer now.
I typed back: Be safe. Love you.
Then I stared at the phone, thumb hovering over the screen. Should I add “We need to talk when you get home”? But that would just worry her while she was trying to work. And I couldn’t drop this kind of news via text message.
I put the flowers in water and stored the groceries, moving through the familiar motions while my mind raced. Tomorrow, then. I’d tell her tomorrow when she gets home.
???
"I... haven't told her yet."
The silence that followed was deafening. Arthur’s expression went from professional concern to dismay. “You haven’t told her,” he repeated slowly, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard.
“I was going to tell her last night. I came home ready to tell her everything. I had it all planned out.” The words came out in a rush. “But she wasn’t there. She’d been called out to the Jenkins’ alpaca farm. She’s still there now, hasn’t come home yet.”
Arthur’s expression didn’t soften. “So you’re planning to tell her when she gets back?”
I nodded.
“Why didn’t you tell her as soon as you found out? The moment you got that message?”
“I panicked.” I needed him to understand.
“The text came through at the restaurant — we were at Rosewood Inn, and I was about to propose, and suddenly there’s this photo of a kid who looks exactly like me and a message saying he’s my son, and I just—I froze.
I should have shown her right then. But I didn’t, and then I went to meet Jenna yesterday, and now it’s been two days, and I just keep digging myself deeper—”
“Let me stop you right there,” Arthur interrupted, holding up a hand. “I’m not a therapist, Sam. I’m a lawyer. I deal in facts, not feelings. And the fact is, you need to tell that girl everything. Today.”
He leaned forward, his voice sharp with urgency. “You go home right now, and you tell Chloe everything. Everything. Do you understand me?”
“I know I need to, I just—”
“No.” He stood up, which made the directive even more serious. “Not ‘eventually.’ Not ‘when the time is right.’ You tell her today. Tonight. The moment she walks through that door. For the love of God, tell her before she finds out some other way.”
“She won’t find out. No one in Willowbrook knows—”
“Small towns?” Arthur shook his head. “Information travels. Maybe someone saw you in Millfield. Maybe someone heard something. A customer of yours will mention seeing you with a woman and a child. And when Chloe finds out — not if, when — and discovers you’ve been keeping this from her?
” He looked at me with something close to pity.
“That kind of betrayal is hard to come back from, son.”
The words hit hard because I knew he was right. I’d already lied to Chloe multiple times. Every hour I delayed telling her was another brick in a wall that might eventually become insurmountable.
“You’re right,” I said quietly. “I’ll tell her tonight.”
“Good man.” Arthur sat back down and pulled out a business card, scribbling something on the back. “This is the testing lab I mentioned. Call them today, get an appointment for tomorrow if possible.” He handed me the card. “Chloe is a good woman. She deserves honesty.”
I pocketed the card, Arthur’s words echoing in my head all the way home: Chloe deserves honesty.