The Billionaire's Forgotten Wife and Son

The next morning, in a rare break from routine, Harry skipped the executive meeting he usually chaired at James Group and came home to the riverside mansion early.

He pushed open the door to the dressing room, glanced down, and froze where he stood. Four silver suitcases sat lined up neatly beside the cabinet.

"It's just a short trip. Why pack all this?"

He hadn't even taken off his suit jacket, and there was a thread of panic in his voice he couldn't quite hide.

I was bent over our son, straightening his tailored shirt, and didn't look up. "It's a long way. We'll be staying a while."

His eyes went straight to Lowell, who nodded, sweet and obedient.

The tight line of his jaw eased a little.

Then he reached into his briefcase and drew out three gold-embossed VIP passes to the riding club, spreading them open slowly in front of the two of us.

"Deborah, you've been angry with me for not taking him to the club, haven't you? I pushed back my morning meeting. I pulled these from the private list especially for today. The three of us can go right now."

There was a rare coaxing note in his voice, and his dark eyes were full of hope.

For a moment I felt strangely off balance.

It had been nearly a month since he stood us up, and only today did it occur to him to make it right.

But then I remembered the text conversation I'd cut short last night, and it all came clear in an instant.

This was nothing more than a late apology, dragged out of him by guilt.

So I said nothing and kept straightening Lowell's collar.

But Lowell suddenly lit up, gazing up at me with shining eyes. "Mommy, I want to ride a pony."

Looking at that light in his eyes, I was about to nod when Harry added, haltingly,

"Only... if we go to the club today, you have to agree to one thing for me."

"Vivien heard we'd booked the family portrait tomorrow. She's worried that if Howie finds out, he'll feel left out and act up. So the photos. Could we push them back a little first?"

He wouldn't meet our eyes as he said it, his whole face short on conviction, soft with the guilt of a man who knew he had no ground to stand on.

The smile froze on Lowell's face. The light in his eyes went out, inch by inch.

"Oh. Okay."

He lowered his small head and his hands, folded in front of him, clenched tight around the hem of his shirt.

Harry, on the other hand, let out a breath like a man set free, and went right on talking himself into it.

"It's her only worry. And I figure the portrait can be done anytime. We'll have plenty of chances later. Right, buddy?"

He had no idea that tomorrow our son and I would be gone from this city for good.

But neither of us let on.

I looked at him, my lips twisting into a cold, faint smile.

"Fine. We'll do it your way."

Harry exhaled, and at last a relieved smile spread across his handsome face.

"Then I'll let Vivien know. One o'clock this afternoon. We'll meet at the main gate of the private club."

He buttoned his jacket as he headed out, and at the door he stopped short and looked back at us.

"Deborah, buddy, thank you both for understanding."

Neither of us answered. We only watched him go, quietly.

The instant the security door clicked shut, Lowell snapped the lid closed on the supercar model's box.

He slid down off the sofa and pulled out the little suitcase he'd packed long ago.

"Mommy, I don't want to go to the club anymore. Can we just leave now?"

I crouched down and ruffled his hair.

"Yes. I've already rebooked the tickets. The two o'clock flight this afternoon."

That morning, in the riverside mansion where we'd lived together for years, I made one last simple breakfast.