"Buy the bastards some milk," my wealthy fiancée laughed, flipping a twenty-dollar bill toward my ex-wife. I'd thrown her out of my life a year ago after believing she had cheated on me.

On Thursday afternoon, twenty-four hours before the rehearsal dinner, I took a helicopter to my private retreat in the Smoky Mountains.

The cabin sat on a high ridge surrounded by deep pine forests, completely invisible from the roads below.

When the chopper touched down on the pad, Maren was standing near the porch, wearing a warm wool sweater I had ordered for her, holding little Leo in her arms while Clara rested in a crib nearby.

She looked different. Four days of proper nutrition, rest, and safety had brought the color back to her cheeks. The hollow despair in her eyes had been replaced by a fierce, protective light.

I walked up the wooden steps, stepping onto the porch.

“Rowan,” she said softly, holding Leo closer.

“He’s landing tomorrow at four, Maren,” I told her immediately, not wanting to waste a single second. “The legal team has federal warrants ready to be unsealed the moment he steps off that jet.”

Maren let out a long, shaky breath, her eyes searching my face. “Is he really okay, Rowan? Is he healthy?”

I pulled my phone from my pocket and pulled up the high-resolution photograph Sam’s team had sent from Geneva. I held the screen out to her.

Maren gasped. Her free hand covered her mouth as she stared at the screen. She reached out, her finger tracing the outline of the tiny boy’s face on the glass.

“He looks just like Leo,” she whispered, tears glistening in her eyes. “They have the exact same little cowlick on top of their heads.”

“They do,” I smiled softly, stepping closer. “Tomorrow night, Maren, he’ll be back in your arms. And the people who did this will never see the light of day again.”

Maren set Leo gently down in the double crib beside his sister and turned to face me.

“Rowan,” she said, her tone serious. “Why didn't you ask me?”

I frowned slightly. “Ask you what?”

“A year ago,” she said, looking straight into my eyes. “When those photos showed up... when the bank statements were dropped on your desk... why didn't you come to me first? Why did you believe a file built by strangers instead of the woman who slept beside you for five years?”

The question hit me harder than any weapon could have.

I stepped over to the wooden railing, looking out over the vast, misty valley below.

“Because I was insecure, Maren,” I admitted, my voice raw with honest shame. “My business was booming, I was suddenly surrounded by old-money executives like Richard Whitmore, and deep down... I felt like the poor kid from the foster system who didn't belong in that world. When Tessa pointed out that you were spending time with my business partner, my pride took over. I was so afraid of being humiliated that I let my anger blind me to the truth.”

I turned back to look at her.

“I was a coward, Maren,” I said clearly. “I built a multi-million-dollar company, but I was too weak to trust the only person who actually loved me for who I was.”

Maren walked over to me, stopping just inches away. She looked at me for a long, silent moment.

“You’re not that coward anymore, Rowan,” she said softly. “A coward wouldn't have gone into that basement alone. A coward wouldn't be tearing down the most powerful family in the state to bring our son home.”