PROLOGUE
SARAH
Snow fell steadily, blanketing the small town in soft, gentle white. Christmas lights twinkled along the streets, casting a warm glow against the bitter chill of December. Inside my childhood home, the scent of cinnamon and pine filled the air while the sound of my voice singing old Christmas carols played softly in the background. It was the same scene every year: my parents' house, filled with laughter and the holiday cheer of our family Christmas reunion.
"Matthew won't be coming, Sarah," my mom had said earlier that day. That was the only reason I was here.
I wasn't sure whether I felt disappointed or relieved, but it didn't surprise me. It had been years since Matthew had attended the reunion. Once inseparable childhood friends had drifted apart slowly at first, then completely out of touch. Now, Matthew was just a name from the past—a face I glimpsed in a tiny, perfect little human.
I glanced at my baby, Louis, nestled in my arms. He was small for his age. His chubby cheeks flushed pink with the warmth of the fire. His tiny hand reached up toward me, and I smiled down at him, my heart softening in ways only a mother can understand.
My parents, busy with the hustle of last-minute preparations, didn't notice my quiet sadness. The reunion had been a dream of theirs and Matthew's parents—an image of the whole group together again, as it once had been. But with Matthew absent, it felt only half-realized. And yet, I had my son now. A piece of him for the rest of my life.
MATTHEW
When I pulled into the driveway of Sarah's parents' house, the bitter cold was the first thing to hit me. My breath fogged in the air, and for a moment, I stood frozen, unsure of what had drawn me back to this place. Home. It had been too long. Longer than I cared to admit. Maybe I had returned because I couldn't bear the thought of not seeing her, or I would lose my mind.
The last straw had been my mother's phone call begging me to come. "Come home, Matt. It's been years since you joined us for Christmas or your birthday. You can't just keep avoiding us."
I hadn't planned on showing up. In fact, I'd already decided to skip the reunion—again. But something had shifted inside me during the long flight home. Maybe it was how my mother's voice had sounded, full of a strange mixture of hope and sadness. Or perhaps it was simply the pull of nostalgia. Whatever the reason, here I was.
I didn't expect much. After all, Sarah's absence in my life had become as constant as the changing seasons. But I found more than I had ever anticipated when I stepped through the door.
Laughter and conversation filled the house, wrapping around me like a warm, familiar blanket. I smiled, even if only for a moment. Then, my gaze drifted to her.
Sarah sat in the living room with her parents as she had so many years ago. Only this time, she was holding something—a small, chubby baby wrapped in a soft blue blanket. She adjusted her hold, placing the baby on her shoulder.
And then I froze.
The baby was staring at me, and for a moment, the world around me vanished. A chill ran down my spine. There was something hauntingly familiar about the child's face—his round cheeks, his brown hair, and most disturbingly, the tiny streak of white running through the top of his head.
I blinked, and reality rushed back.
The child... It couldn't be. But the more I looked, the more my mind struggled to comprehend the scene before me. The way the baby's eyes seemed to recognize me, as if they were catching my gaze too. The shock hit me in waves.
This child is my son; I'm not stupid. Reality stood before me. But how?
"Sarah," I whispered, my voice shaking as the words barely escaped my throat.
Her gaze flickered toward me, but it took a moment before she registered my presence.
My heart began to race. It didn't make sense. My mind scrambled for an explanation, for any rational answer to clarify how I had a son I didn't remember fathering, especially with Sarah. The baby was too small and young, but the resemblance was undeniable. This child, with the same white streak as my hair, was mine. When had this happened?
Before I could voice my questions, Sarah's eyes clouded as if she knew something I didn't. She shifted the baby in her arms and stood up slowly.
"I'm sorry, Matthew," she said, her voice low. "I should've told you sooner."
My frustration morphed into something darker, something sharper. "Told me?" I repeated, my voice rising. "How could you not—how could you keep this from me?"
But Sarah didn't flinch. Instead, she lifted her sleeve, revealing the telltale signs—bruises, patches of pale skin, the weight of something deeper than what appeared on the surface. My words caught in my throat as I saw the wig coming down her head.
The reality hit me harder than any shock ever could.
Sarah, my Sarah, was fighting for her life.
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