When William was confirmed as the long-lost Winchester heir, the convoy of luxury cars stretched clear down Maple Lane, blocking traffic for miles.


    The moment the family butler came to collect him, William didn’t even blink, as if he had already expected this moment.


    But when it came to deciding who’d make the trip back to Manhattan, he took our son Henry’s hand and shot me this apologetic look.


    “I’ll take Henry back first, thene get youter.”


    “As for Emma… well, Grandmother’s quite taken with her, so I thought-”


    He trailed off mid-sentence, waiting for me to fill the silence.


    But I already knew Emma Green was sitting pretty in the back seat of that lead Rolls-Royce.


    Seven years of marriage, and William never missed a chance to remind me how I just didn’t understand his astronomy journals or his precious poetry collections.


    season’s best asparagus tips or my famous roasted chicken with herbs from our garden, he’d grudgingly look up from ng, muttering about how the screen door still needed fixing and Henry’s muddy boots were tracking dirt everywhere.


    the good little farm wife. But here’s what he didn’t know-I wasn’t some backwoods illiterate.


    those letters he wrote, all that “my dearest” and “forever yours” nonsense.


    Only the name at the top wasn’t mine. It was Emma.


    o upon hearing his words, I just shrugged and grabbed my foraging basket.


    Your call who rides back to the city with you.”


    I’m gonna go mushroom picking. We’ll talk about the restter.”


    When little Tommy from down thene came bouncing up to our farmhouse with the news, William was teaching our son Henry his penmanship at he kitchen table.


    Jerry’s pen stuttered, leaving a dark blot on the paper.


    Villiam stayed focused, his voice steady.


    Henry, what did I tell you? Writing is about discipline. You need to keep your mind calm,”


    knew what came next-William would reunite with his family and head straight back to Manhattan.


    After the Winchester people left, William looked exactly the same as always. Cool as a cucumber.


    The golden boy they’d been grooming all these years-even without his memories, even after being trapped in this tiny Vermont town for so many years, that refined upbringing and natural grace bred into his very bones hadn’t diminished one bit.


    And me? I was even calmer than he was.


    I went about my usual routine, heading up to the woods to forage for morels.


    Mrs. Patterson from the next farm over spotted me on the trail and couldn’t help but tease, “Lucy, honey, you’re about to live the high life in the city with that husband of yours, and you’re still out here hunting mushrooms?” <fn068c> ??? ????? ???????s ??? ?????s??? ?? find(?)ovel</fn068c>


    That day, William told his family he needed time to pack up, asked them toe back tomorrow to collect him. Said he’d be bringing two people back


    with him.


    Everyone in town was going on about how I’d hit the damn jackpot.


    Theypletely forgot that when William first washed up here-he couldn’t remember his own name, couldn’t tell a pitchfork from a garden hoe-I was the only one who took him in, nursed him back to health like he was some lost kid.


    In a small vige like this, him living under my roof trashed my reputation, so he married me to make it right.


    Just invited a few neighbors over, served some baptism cake, and called it a wedding.


    After we tied the knot, we were actually pretty happy.


    Back then, he was mine and mine alone.


    At this time, he was going to leave, and obviously he should take me and Henry with him.


    But I knew better.


    ast time around, William did take two people back to the Winchester estate.


    ast not me.


    hinking about it, I just smiled at Mrs. Patterson. “This season’s morels are especially good.”


    he money from selling premium mushrooms would be enough to get me out of here and start fresh somewhere new.