Page 48 of Before Broken Vows

It's closed.

I don't knock.

I barge in.

She's sitting on the edge of the bed, her back straight but tense, like she's been expecting me. Her hands are folded in her lap.

She stands the moment she sees me.

Her eyes are swollen. Her lips part, but no words come out.

I stare at her.

Long and hard.

"You lied to me," I say.

"I didn't?—"

"You didn't tell me." I take another step. "You kept my son from me."

She swallows. "I know. And I'm sorry. I was scared?—"

"Of me?" I cut in. "Of my family? My father? Or just of what it would mean to have stayed and been with me?"

"All of it."

I nod slowly.

"You had no right."

"I know."

"You took so much from me. You let me live like he didn't exist."

She's crying again. I hate it. I hate that it still works on me. That even now, some part of me wants to pull her into my arms and pretend none of this happened.

"How old is he?" I ask, arms crossed now, because I won't allow myself to comfort her. Not yet.

"Three and a half," she says, wiping her eyes.

"Does he know about me?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "Not in the way he should," she says through tears.

"What the hell does that mean? Does he even know I'm alive?"

She nods. "Yes. He thinks you're real sick, so he can't see you."

"Has he… has he even seen a picture of me?"

"Yes. The one of us from the night we did that dinner by the Acropolis. You looked so handsome," she says and stops to wipeher eyes, "you thought it was so touristy, but it was one of my favorite nights with you."

"Why?" I ask before I can think. I shouldn't even care in this moment.

"Because I'm pretty sure that was the night he was conceived."

"Jesus Christ," I say, rubbing my forehead.