Part 1

By six o’clock that Friday evening, Grant Hollowell’s future had already been mapped out for him. His charcoal suit had arrived from an expensive Chicago tailor, his grandfather’s silver cuff links were fastened neatly at his wrists, and a diamond ring rested inside his jacket pocket.

At eight, he was expected to propose to Camille Redford during a private reception in the Hollowell family’s glass rooftop garden overlooking Lake Michigan. Their parents, several board members, and executives from Redford Capital would all be there. The engagement would strengthen a business alliance both families had been planning for years. There was only one problem: Grant respected Camille, but he had never truly loved her.

Still, Grant had grown up believing that men born into powerful families didn’t always get to choose their own happiness. Personal feelings came second to reputation, business, and responsibility. He had almost convinced himself he could go through with the proposal when he stepped into the restaurant restroom downstairs.

Four little boys wearing matching navy sweaters stood near the sinks, struggling with an automatic hand dryer. They looked about six years old. Grant barely noticed them until one boy pushed his dark hair away from his forehead with two fingers, tilted his head, and rubbed the left side of his neck.

Grant froze.

Another boy repeated the exact same movement.

Then the third.

Then the fourth.

It was Grant’s own nervous habit, something his father had teased him about since childhood.

One of the boys noticed him staring.

“Why are you looking at us?”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

The boy narrowed his gray eyes.

“You do the neck thing too.”

Grant slowly looked from the child to his own reflection.

The same gray eyes.

The same narrow chin.

The same slight crease near the cheek when they smiled.

Even their eyebrows reminded him of photographs of himself as a child.

The tallest boy held out his hand.

“I’m Miles. Those are Mason, Micah, and Milo.”

“You’re all brothers?”

Miles smiled.

“We’re quadruplets.”

Grant felt his chest tighten.

“Where’s your father?”

Miles’s smile faded.

“We don’t have one.”

“And your mother?”

Miles pointed toward the restaurant.

“She works here.”

Grant followed his finger.

And suddenly, six years disappeared.

Tessa Marlowe stood beside the service station wearing a black apron over a simple blue blouse. Her hair was shorter now and tired lines surrounded her eyes, but Grant recognized her instantly. Six years earlier, she had been the woman he believed he would spend his life with.

Then, without explanation, she vanished.

At least, that was what Grant had always been told.

A supervisor was speaking quietly to Tessa.