PART 2

The little voice came from behind me.

“Are you my daddy?”

The room froze.

Completely.

No one moved.

No one breathed.

Marcus stared at Noah as if the question had struck him physically.

His lips parted, but nothing came out.

Noah looked from Marcus to me.

“Mama said we might meet him someday.”

I felt something tighten inside my chest.

For eight years, I had imagined this moment.

I had imagined anger.

I had imagined tears.

I had imagined Marcus begging for forgiveness.

But I had never imagined my son standing in front of him with nothing but innocent curiosity.

Marcus finally swallowed.

“Who told you about me?”

I stepped forward.

“I did.”

His eyes snapped toward me.

“You told them?”

“They deserved to know where they came from.”

Marcus looked at the four children again.

His gaze lingered on each face.

Then his knees nearly buckled.

Four.

Not one.

Not two.

Four children.

His children.

Patricia covered her mouth with both hands.

“My God…”

I looked at her.

“You remember the day I came to your house eight years ago?”

Her eyes filled with confusion.

“I told you I was pregnant.”

She shook her head slowly.

“No…”

“Yes.”

Her face went pale.

“I remember you saying something. But Marcus told us—”

“He told you I was lying.”

Silence.

Patricia turned toward her son.

“Marcus?”

He didn’t answer.

That was all the confirmation she needed.

The blonde woman beside him suddenly stepped backward.

“You knew?”

Marcus finally looked at her.

“Ashley, I—”

“You knew she was pregnant?”

“I didn’t know.”

I laughed quietly.

“You didn’t know because you didn’t want to know.”

Marcus looked at me.

“I was twenty-seven,” he said. “I was terrified.”

“So was I.”

“I thought you were trying to trap me.”

I stared at him.

“I was carrying four babies.”

His expression collapsed.

For the first time, I saw something other than confidence in his eyes.

Regret.

But regret was eight years too late.

Noah tugged gently at my sleeve.

“Mama?”

“Yes?”

“Is he sad because we’re here?”

I looked down at my son.

Then back at Marcus.

“Yes,” I said quietly.

“He’s realizing something he should have realized a long time ago.”

Marcus took one step toward the children.

I immediately moved in front of them.

“Don’t.”

He stopped.

“I just want to talk to them.”

“You had eight years.”

“I didn’t know!”

“You didn’t ask.”

His jaw tightened.

“You changed your number.”

“After you told me never to contact you again.”

“I was angry.”

“You filed for divorce.”

“You weren’t even my wife anymore.”

“No.”

I looked directly into his eyes.

“But I was the mother of your children.”

That sentence destroyed whatever defense he had left.

Patricia began crying.

“I didn’t know,” she whispered. “Marcus told me she left him.”

I turned toward her.

“I never left.”

Her face crumpled.

“He told us you moved away.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

I looked at my children.

“Because I had nowhere else to go.”

The room became unbearably quiet.

Then Ashley suddenly spoke.

“So why are you here?”

I turned toward her.

She looked nervous now.

“This isn’t your family anymore.”

I smiled.

“I know.”

Then I looked at Marcus.

“I didn’t come here to take anything from you.”

He frowned.

“Then why did you come?”

I reached into my coat and pulled out a small envelope.

“I came because you invited me.”

I placed the envelope on the table.

Marcus stared at it.

“What is that?”

“Something you should have received eight years ago.”

His hand trembled as he opened it.

Inside was a photograph.

An ultrasound.

Four tiny shapes.

And beneath it was a hospital bracelet.

Marcus stared at the photograph for several seconds.

Then he noticed the date.

His face changed.

“That was the day…”

“Yes.”

“The day I left.”

“Yes.”

He looked at the four children again.

Then his eyes filled with tears.

But before he could say anything, the front door opened.

A man in a dark coat stepped inside.

He walked directly toward me.

“Sorry I’m late.”

Marcus turned.

“Who the hell are you?”

The man ignored him.

He looked at me and smiled.

“Are the kids ready?”

I nodded.

“Almost.”

Marcus stared at him.

Then at me.

His expression hardened.

“Who’s this?”

I took a breath.

Then I said the words that made the entire room go silent again.

“This is Daniel.”

Marcus looked confused.

“Daniel?”

“My husband.”

Ashley gasped.

Patricia stopped crying.

And Marcus’s face went completely white.

But that wasn’t even the part that would hurt him most.

Because Daniel walked over to the children, knelt down, and kissed each of them on the forehead.

Then Noah smiled.

“Can we go home now, Dad?”

Marcus stared at the little boy.

His eyes widened.

Dad.

The word he had spent eight years refusing to earn.

And the man standing in front of him had earned it without ever sharing their blood.

Marcus slowly looked at me.

“You married him?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Six years ago.”

His voice cracked.

“And the kids?”

I answered calmly.

“They’ve called him Dad since they were two.”

Marcus looked like the floor had disappeared beneath his feet.

But then Daniel placed his hand on my shoulder.

“There’s something else you should know,” he said.

I looked at him.

He nodded toward the envelope.

I had almost forgotten about it.

I opened it again and pulled out one final document.

Marcus saw the letterhead.

His expression changed instantly.

“What is that?”

I looked directly at him.

“The reason I didn’t come back for you.”

He stepped forward.

“What reason?”

I handed him the document.

His eyes moved across the first line.

And then he stopped breathing.

Because the letter wasn’t from me.

It was from his own mother.

And it was dated eight years ago.