After they left, I finished my shopping with purpose. Ingredients for tonight’s dinner, breakfast supplies for tomorrow, and the basics we’d been running low on.
The parking lot was busy with lunchtime shoppers. I was unlocking my truck when I spotted a familiar vehicle across the lot – Sam’s truck, parked near the medical building that housed Dr. Peterson’s family practice and the small lab that served Willowbrook’s basic testing needs.
My stomach clenched. Was Sam sick? Had he been dealing with some health crisis he hadn’t told me about? That would explain the secretive behavior, the stress.
But as I watched, Sam emerged from the medical building, and he wasn’t alone.
A woman walked beside him, tall and thin with dark hair. Behind him, a little boy skipped along, chattering about something that made Sam smile.
My world tilted sideways.
Then my training kicked in, cataloging the similarities the way I’d note symptoms in a patient: ear shape identical, facial structure a perfect miniature match, even the way he moved with that careful, deliberate precision that was purely Sam.
The child looked exactly like Sam. Not just a passing resemblance, right down to the same way of tilting his head when he was listening intently.
When you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras.
But sometimes it really was zebras.
They were moving across the parking lot, the little boy between them, now holding Sam’s hand.
I sat frozen in my own truck, groceries forgotten in the back, and watched the man I loved help a child into a car seat in an older sedan.
The woman said something that made Sam laugh. Then she reached up to touch his arm, but Sam leaped back like he’d been electrocuted. Even from this distance, I could see the horror on his face.
Despite everything, I found myself sputtering with unexpected laughter. The sheer panic on Sam’s face when the woman had tried to touch him was almost comical.
Whatever was going on here, I knew instinctively — no way was this man cheating on me.
Still, my chest felt like someone was squeezing it in a vise.
Sam’s phone rang. I watched him answer it, his expression shifting from relaxed to tense in seconds. He said something to the woman, who looked disappointed but nodded. Sam ruffled the little boy’s hair through the car window, then walked to his truck and got in.
I watched his truck pull out of the parking lot and disappear down Main Street, leaving the woman standing alone by her sedan with the little boy still buckled inside.
I was still processing what I’d witnessed when someone knocked on my passenger window. The woman was standing beside my truck with the little boy, both of them smiling at me.
I rolled down the window.
“You must be Chloe!” she said with aggressive cheerfulness. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but I couldn’t help noticing you in the parking lot. I’m Jenna, and this is Leo. I’ve told Leo all about you.”
So this was Jenna.
I’ve told Leo all about you.The casual familiarity in her voice made my stomach clench. How long had they been in Sam’s life? What had Jenna told this child about me?
“Hi,” I managed, my veterinary training kicking in to provide professional composure when my personal life was falling apart. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Are you the animal doctor?” Leo asked, bouncing on his toes and pressing closer to my window. “Mommy says you take care of ALL the animals in the whole town and that you’re the bestest at making them feel better when they’re sick!”
“I am,” I said, forcing myself to focus on Leo’s innocent face instead of the implications. “I’m Dr. Chloe. Do you like animals?”
“I LOVE animals! Especially dogs and puppies!” Leo’s whole face lit up. “Mommy said I can have my own dog when we find a house. Do you have any puppies at your place? Can I see them?”
This child was sweet, innocent, and completely unaware of the chaos his words were causing. And he was definitely Sam’s son.
“We’re still getting settled in the area,” Jenna said, her eyes never leaving my face as she cataloged my reactions. “Sam’s been so helpful, showing us around, helping with… logistics. He’s such a good man, isn’t he? So responsible about taking care of the people he cares about.”
The way she said it made my skin crawl. “He is,” I said carefully, not sure what game we were playing but determined not to lose it.
