Chapter 38
SAM
The fair smells like fried food and sawdust, the same as it always has. Kids running around with sticky hands, music a little too loud, booths that haven’t changed in ten years, and the tinkling sounds of bells from all of the games.
I glance over at Becca as we walk in, hand-in-hand. Her fingers curl into mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and I marvel that after years together, this shouldn’t feel new, but it does. I will never take her hand in mine for granted.
“You trying to win me a stuffed animal?” she asks, glancing up at me, taking me out of my thoughts.
I huff. “I don’t remember you being the stuffed animal type.”
“I’m not,” she muses. “But I’d let you waste our money on trying to prove you're the strongest man.”
I shake my head, smiling, loving hearing “our money” out of her mouth again.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I see it’s the police station calling. I step slightly to the side, pull it out, and bring Becca with me.
“Sam Hughes,” I answer.
“Mr. Hughes, this is Officer Daniels.”
My shoulders tighten and I see Becca’s back straighten.
“Yeah, what’s going on, officer?” I skip to the point.
“We brought Rick in this morning,” he explains. “We’ve got him on the footage, and the messages you provided line up.”
I glance back at Becca, as the officer asks if Becca is nearby.
“She’s with me, one second,” I say and grab my earbuds, giving one to Becca and myself. “Okay, you can continue.”
“Rick talked,” Officer Daniels relays.
Becca and I are both still. “Fully?” I question.
“Enough,” the officer agrees.
I take a breath, preparing for what will be said. “Alright, let’s hear it.”
Daniels exhales, already sounding exhausted from the day. “It started with the salon.”
Becca’s eyes flick to mine.
“Mandy?” She asks.
“Yes,” he confirms. “She approached him, overheard him at the country club. Said she had a business proposition. Her best friend wanted to open a salon, with funding potential, and a partner already lined up. Apparently, Mandy needed something to work on. She was low on money, stability … and frankly, status.”
“She knew Sam had the skillset to make it real, and our savings,” Becca says quietly.
“And Rick,” I add, “needed something to fix his situation.”
Daniels grunts in agreement. “He was already in deep with the Yarrows at this point. The previous deal went bad; the money didn’t come back the way it was supposed to. He needed a win, and fast.”
“So he latched onto the salon,” I respond, seeing it all clearer now.
“Exactly,” Daniels replies. “Cash-heavy business with a quick turnaround. Looked like an easy way to stabilize things and keep Yarrow off his back.”
Becca shifts slightly beside me, shifting the puzzle pieces together.
“But the salon wasn’t his end game, and it quickly didn’t work out for him,” she correctly deduces.
“No,” Daniels agrees. “And that’s where things started to shift.”
I already know where this is going.
“The cabin property,” I answer, seeing it clearly.
Daniels is silent before continuing on.
“He knew about the rarity of the lot. Mandy mentioned it early on. The unique zoning has potential for huge expansion if handled right. His goal was to get it; he wanted to push you to delay building …,” he trails off.
I let out a breath.
“Yeah. He did that,” I add, feeling the shame roll through me at how deeply I was played.
“He figured if he could keep it untouched,” Daniels keeps going, “he’d have a shot at bringing it to Yarrow later. Bigger play and more money.”
Becca stiffens, leaning away from me slightly.
“And when that didn’t work?” She asks tentatively.
“He pivoted again, trying another strategy,” Daniels goes on. “Your listing.”
“Charles’ property,” I say.
“Yes,” Daniels grunts in agreement, “That one he thought he could control through Becca right away. Told Yarrow he had access, told us he promised it. Building a huge apartment complex on a lot like that would be huge.”
Becca exhales slowly.
“But he didn’t get it.”
“No,” Daniels says. “And when he couldn’t capture that deal … that’s when the pressure really hit.”
I scrub a hand over my face. “So the cabin damage was the last move.”
“Last leverage point,” Daniels corrects. “He figured if something happened to the property—damage, delays, insurance involvement—it would force movement. Decisions would slow, revenue would be delayed, opening a door for him to step back in.”
“Create a problem he could solve,” Becca says.
“That’s exactly how he put it,” he agrees.
Silence settles between us for a second.
Daniels hesitates before speaking, “He said he wasn’t trying to hurt anyone. Rick says he checked your booking site. Made sure the cabin was empty.”
I look at Becca. She doesn’t soften completely, but I see a slight dip in her shoulders with relief.
“That doesn’t make it okay,” she says.
“No,” Daniels agrees. “It doesn’t.”
I exhale slowly. “He got in over his head,” I mutter.
“That’s usually how this goes,” Daniels confirms.
Becca straightens slightly beside me. “And now? What happens?”
“We move forward,” Daniels responds confidently. “Charges are filed. He’s not walking away from this.”
I nod once, feeling a rush of relief. “Alright.”
“We’ll be in touch,” Daniels informs.
I lower the phone slowly, pulling Becca closer, needing to touch her.
“He was trying to trap the business,” I add. “Slow everything down. Buy time.”
“Yeah, he did. And it almost worked,” she whispers, more to herself than me.
We stand there for a second, the noise of the fair pressing back in around us. Kids laughing while someone is shouting about funnel cake in the distance.
“He checked the website,” I say, quieter. “Made sure no one was staying at the cabin that night.”
“I know, but that doesn’t make it okay,” she says.
“Agreed.”
“But it does mean something. That even if he isn’t a good guy, he isn’t a monster, didn’t want to hurt anyone.”
I don’t know if it is any type of proof, or maybe I just want it to be. To believe in the good parts I saw of him, and that he hid the parts brought out by desperation. I look down at her and wrap my arms tighter around her waist, breathing in her scent.
“Nobody got hurt, the cabin and property are okay, and so are we,” I say, more to myself than anything.
She studies me for a second, then gives me a small smile. “Yeah, we are.”
Leaning in closer, resting her head on my shoulder for a moment, we savor this feeling, something I nearly destroyed.
“Come on,” Becca hums, leaning back abruptly, holding my hand. “You owe me a stuffed animal.”
I huff out a laugh. “I knew that was a trap.”
“Everything is a trap,” she chirps back. “You should know that by now.”
I glance at her, catching the smirk she’s trying to hide.
We walk a little farther in, past the food stands and the game booths, when I spot them.
Holly first. She’s standing near one of the vendor tents, hair pulled back, talking with her hands like she always does when she’s excited.
She's in jeans and a floral blouse, Soluna Atelier tote over one shoulder, looking like someone who’s finally settling into herself.
And next to her is my mom. She's dressed for a garden party in the middle of a fairground.
I slow down without meaning to, and Becca feels it immediately.
“What?” she asks quietly.
I nod ahead. “My mom.”
She follows my gaze. There’s a brief pause, just a second, where I feel her take that in.
“How long has it been since you have seen her?” Becca asks.
“Months, and it didn’t end on a good note.”
“Okay,” she says, surprised.
Holly turns and spots us before I can decide what to do. Her face lights up.
“Becca, Sam!” she calls, already waving us over. “Oh my god, you’re here.” There’s no hesitation in her calling out to us.
We walk up, and she pulls me into a quick hug before stepping back, looking between us.
“Hi,” she says to Becca, softer now, but not guarded. “Don’t you two look all gooey and happy?”
Becca laughs, “Thanks, we are.” My heart beams. I grab her hand in mine and bring it to my lips.
Holly shifts her weight excitedly, like she’s holding something in and can’t anymore.
“Okay, I have to tell you something,” she says, already halfway into it. “I went down to the permit office this week—by myself, before you say anything—and the inspector signed off!”
I blink. “Wait. What?”
She nods, fast. “Everything, we got the final approvals. We’re cleared!”
I feel something loosen in my chest; I didn’t realize it was still tight.
“That’s … huge,” I say.
“I know.” She is grinning now. “We’re doing a soft opening next week. Like, actually doing it.”
I glance at Becca. She’s watching Holly, and there’s something in her expression I don’t see often, pride.
“You did that on your own?” Becca asks.
Holly lifts a shoulder, trying to play it down. “Yeah. I mean, you guys have enough going on. I figured I could at least handle one thing without calling Sam five times.”
I huff. “Only five?”
She rolls her eyes. “Okay, rude.”
But she’s smiling. Becca steps a little closer. “That’s really impressive, Holly, taking the initiative in something so foreign to you.”
The compliment makes Holly straighten up, feeling ten feet taller. You can see it. Holly’s eyes get a little misty, like she didn’t realize how much she needed to hear that.
“Thanks,” she says. “I’m trying to … not screw this up.”
“You won’t,” Becca says simply.
I glance between them, something settling into place that wasn’t there before. With the salon opening up and our grandparents’ house money no longer between us, their relationship can be built on how it should have always been.
As I bask in this moment of rightness, I feel my mom’s gaze. She hasn’t said anything yet, but she’s watching Becca now, with a look of caution.
I shift slightly, instinct kicking in, but Becca doesn’t move back. If anything, she squares her shoulders just a little. My mom clears her throat, assuring she has our attention.
“Rebecca,” she says. “Samuel.”
“Hi, Mom.” I don’t lean over and kiss her cheek like she’s used to. I put my arm around Becca and pull her in tighter, signaling strongly where I still stand, with my wife.
Becca meets her eyes. “Mrs. Hughes.”
There’s an awkward pause, waiting for my mom to continue. Then she exhales, readying herself.
“We always say we want the best for our kids,” she starts hesitantly, voice more measured than I’ve ever heard it. “But sometimes … we think we know exactly what that looks like.”
No one interrupts. Holly goes still beside us, unsure how to react. My mom looks at Becca, not unkindly, but not trying to soften it either.
“Rebecca, you and I are different,” she says. “And I think that … felt threatening to me. I spent a long time believing our differences meant one of us was wrong.”
Becca doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t rush to fill the silence, only listens, letting her get the words out at her pace.
“I need to admit something to you, I may have gently pushed Mandy on Sam.” Her voice doesn't waver, but it tightens slightly. "That was my desire. It was never his. And I made choices that reflected that, in ways that were not fair to either of you, or to your marriage."
The fair noise presses on around us. Bells ding, and someone wins a prize at a booth nearby, letting out a shout.
I look at my mom. "You made Becca feel like she was never going to be enough for this family." I wait until she meets my eyes so that she can see the truth and rage in them. "I should have never allowed that, but I need you to know that ends here."
Mom holds my gaze, blinking rapidly, attempting to compose herself. “I understand.”
Turning to Becca, she straightens, attempting to compose herself. “It doesn’t excuse how I treated you,” my mom adds. “But I know now that Sam is lucky to have you.”
It’s not dramatic or emotional. Hell, it isn’t even really an apology. But it’s honest. And that’s more than I expected. I am about to call her out on it when Becca jumps in.
"I don't need an apology," she says. "And I don't need us to be close. But I do need you to understand that the dynamic you created—the dinners, the comparisons—that is done. Not because Sam asked you. Because I’m telling you it is."
Becca pauses, adding almost as an afterthought, “I could also use fewer passive-aggressive comments.”
My mom’s eyes widen while Holly holds back a laugh. Then she gives a small nod.
“That’s fair, I can work on that.”
It is not remorse exactly. It is Mom assessing the situation and seeing what she has to lose.
That’s probably the most honest thing she has ever said to Becca, and we all know it.
And just like that, something else is shifting.
It isn’t fixed, and it will never be perfect. But not what it was either.
Holly exhales loudly. “Okay, wow. That was … way more mature than I was expecting.”
I snort. “Don’t ruin it,” I tell her.
“Too late,” she says. “I’m already ruining it.”
Becca laughs, and I feel it in my chest more than I hear it, the normalcy we were reaching for. We stand there for a second longer, the noise of the fair wrapping back around us.
“Go,” my mom says finally, nodding toward the booths. “Enjoy yourselves.”
I take Becca’s hand again as we step away, her fingers fitting into mine as they’ve always belonged there.
“Your mom didn’t insult me,” she says under her breath.
“Big night,” I reply.
She bumps her shoulder lightly into mine. “I’ll take it.”
I glance at her, then down at our hands. Then back up at the lights strung across the fairgrounds.
For the first time in a long time, nothing feels like it’s about to fall apart. It isn’t us falling back into what we had; this is us choosing each other again and knowing exactly what it costs.