Grant moved out of the Pryces’ guest cottage that evening. He tried repeatedly to persuade Cassandra to attend counselling, but she refused to acknowledge that anything had been wrong. Their marriage eventually ended by mutual agreement the following May. Grant returned to Whitehorse and began working at Yukon Trail Supply, the business I had built after Gordon died. Instead of selling everything, I sold forty percent to my employees and remained managing partner. My son started at the loading dock, learning the business from the ground up.

At the signing ceremony, with our twenty-three employees gathered around us, I took Gordon’s cufflinks from my handbag and placed them in Grant’s palm. His eyes filled with tears as he fastened them to his shirt. One year after the wedding, Grant and I returned to the Whitcombe Estate for supper. The iron gate stood open, and the lanterns illuminated the familiar stone pathway. I wore my dove-gray dress again and walked beside my son. At the entrance, Mrs. Whitcombe smiled and asked who was arriving. I lifted my chin and answered, “Colette Brennan. Mother of Grant.” She stepped aside. “Welcome,” she said. “You were always on the list.” And this time, nobody asked me to leave.