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I’ve told myself a thousand times how I’d scream at her. How I’d throw every bitter word I’ve buried into her face.

But now? I can barely speak.

“You knew the whole time?” I whisper. My voice breaks. “You knew it was me? The whole time?”

Her chin trembles. “Jack?—”

“You knew? And you didn’t reach out?”

“I was too ashamed to reach out. I didn’t know how you would feel.”

That hits like a slap. I blink, swallowing hard. Somehow, that makes it worse.

“Wow,” I mutter, shaking my head. “You rejected me as a child, and now you’re afraid of being rejected as an adult?”

She flinches. Sniffs. “Can we sit and talk? Please. There’s a lot I need to say.”

“I don’t want to sit.”

I sound like a petulant child. I know it. But I don’t care. I’m holding it all in by a thread, and if I sit down, I’ll either lose it or fall apart.

“I can’t believe you’ve known all this time and kept silent. You knew,Megan.”

I almost called her mom. But that’s never going to happen.

She wipes at her cheeks, smearing her makeup without realizing. “I’m sorry. I hate myself every day for what I did. I try to help other kids now, hoping maybe it’ll ease the guilt—but it never does. I failed you. I’m not worthy to be called a mother.”

“You’re right,” I say quietly. “You’re not.”

She doesn’t defend herself. Just nods like she’s been waiting for those words her whole life.

“When I tried to reach out years ago,” she says, voice trembling, “your father stopped me. He made me promise not to. He said you were finally over me… that he didn’t want to hurt you again. That broke me, Jack.”

My stomach twists. “Dad said that?”

“Yes. And I understood. I did. I really wanted to reach out to you, but I had to respect his wishes. But now I can’t do that anymore. I want to be in your life, Jack. If you’ll let me. I can prove I’m not the same person.”

I laugh, but it’s humorless. Bitter. “You want me now? Now that I’m a famous superstar? You left us so you could chase yourdreams. You walked away. And now what—you want back in because I’m finally someone worth loving?”

Her lips part, but nothing comes out.

And God, I hate that I still care. That even now, all I want is for her to say something—anything—that will make this ache go away.

But there’s no magic sentence for that.

Only pain.

And history.

And the part of me that never stopped wondering why I wasn’t enough. I take several steps back from her.

“I only came here to confirm it,” I say, my voice flat, the hollowness in my chest starting to spread. “That you knew who I was. That all this time, you knew.”

She flinches like I’ve slapped her.

“My father was right. I didn’t need you then, and I sure don’t need you now.”

Her lips part, her face crumpling.