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CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

LEDGER

M arlee is knee-deep in baby laundry. Onesies. Tiny socks. Hats so small they look like they belong to woodland creatures. And with three of everything the laundry basket is overflowing. I balance a baby name book on one knee and a snack bowl on the other.

“Okay, we’re naming three humans. This is a high-stakes operation. We cannot mess this up.”

Marlee holds up a onesie with the phrase I Made the Line Change Worth It embroidered across it. “We already made three humans. Naming them should be the easy part.”

“What if we go with a theme? Like cool explorers or famous inventors?” I suggest, squinting at the lists of names in the book.

“Okay,” she says. “Pitch me.”

“Alright: Edison, Tesla, and… uh… Bagel.”

Marlee slowly turns to stare at me. “We talked about this. Bagel is not a name.”

“I stand by it,” I tell her solemnly. “That kid would never be forgotten.”

She laughs. “He’d also never get a job interview.”

Semantics.

I flip a few more pages. “What about traditional but cool? Like Ava, Jack, and Leo?”

“Too short.” She shakes her head. “Feels like a group of people who sell real estate together. ‘Come to Ava, Jack & Leo Realty. We’ll deliver your dream home.’”

“Hmm. You’re not wrong.”

Marlee leans back against a mountain of folded burp cloths. “Okay, serious question. Do we want their names to match at all? Or have totally separate vibes?”

“I mean, they’re sharing a womb. Maybe they deserve a little independence.”

She nods. “Yeah. Maybe not matchy-matchy per se. Just…sibling synergy.”

“Alright. Vibe check. What do you think of…” I flip another couple pages. “Olive, Theo, and Juniper?”

“Cute,” she says with a bob of her head. “Olive and Juniper are a little ‘herbal garden,’ but I don’t hate it.”

“Okay, okay. New round. Top three contenders you like.”

She thinks for a moment before she answers, “Ellis, Rowan, and Quinn.”

Hmm. Not bad.

“Strong, unisex. Stylish.” I nod. “I feel like those kids own neutral-toned onesies and emotional intelligence.”

“Exactly.” She grins.

I pick up a whiteboard marker and add Ellis, Rowan, and Quinn to our growing list on the fridge. Other names were already crossed out:

Bagel—crossed out three times.

Maverick, Blaze, and Thor, with “not an action movie” written beside them.

Maisie, Daisy, and Paisley: “too rhymey—sounds like a girl group”

Hockey, Puck, and Goal: absolutely vetoed

Marlee watches me scribble and squeals. “Can you believe we’re actually going to meet them soon?”

I look over at her, softer now. Marveling at how exquisitely beautiful she looks. So different from the woman I’ve crushed on for years, yet somehow, better. Seasoned. Mature. Confident. “Three tiny humans with our faces. And hopefully your sleeping habits,” I joke.

She reaches over and grabs my hand. “And your heart.”

I swallow hard and nod. “We’re gonna figure this out, right?”

“With the naming?”

“With…all of it.”

“We made them, Ledge.” She smiles and squeezes my hand. “We’ll raise them, we’ll name them something that doesn’t make future teachers cry, and we’ll love them like hell.”

I glance back at the list and add one more name under Ellis, Rowan, and Quinn.

Baby Bagel , in tiny letters, with a winky face.

Marlee rolls her eyes but doesn’t erase it.

I’ve never been in a prison waiting room before.

Hell, I’ve never been inside a prison before.

The cold plastic chairs are uncomfortable as fuck. The afternoon light filters through the scratched glass of the windows as I sit stiffly with my arms crossed tightly over my chest. My jaw hurts because I’ve been clenching it for the past fifteen minutes.

I don’t want to be here, but I know deep down in my soul that if I don’t make peace in one way or another, the memory of my father and what he did will eat at me for the rest of my God-given life. And I sure as hell don’t want this weight on my shoulders when my children are born.

The dark gray door a few feet away is buzzed open and an older man in orange is shuffled through.

His hair a grayer than I remember from my childhood, his eyes sunken but sharp.

I swallow at the thought that I would recognize him anywhere because looking at him is like looking at a much older version of myself.

My father.

Fuck.

I look just like him.

He sits down across from me without so much as a word. A long silence looms between us. Long enough that I begin to wonder if he even knows who I am. Then finally he speaks.

“You’re taller than I imagined.”

I scoff, my eyes flicking away. “You’re smaller than I remember.”

The corner of his mouth turns up and I hear a tiny laugh. “Fair.”

Shifting in this ridiculous chair, I lower my arms to the small round table where we’re seated and stare into his eyes. They’re a greenish brown color.

Of course.

Just like mine.

Maybe I’m more like him than I thought.

“Look, I’m not here to bond, okay? I’m here because I need to hear you say it once and for all. You killed my mother. I need you to say the words.”

He flinches. Not dramatically, but I notice the slight wince in the corner of his eyes.

“Is that what you were told?”

More than once for my entire childhood.

“Yes.”

My father bows his head momentarily and then looks up and asks, “And you never looked into it? You never asked anyone about it?”

“Why would I?” I shrug, annoyed. “When a kid hears over and over again from one foster family after another that his father was a monster who killed his mother and didn’t want his kid…

” I scoff, shaking my head. “Let’s just say doing any kind of research wasn’t at the top of my one hundred things to do before I die list.”

“So that’s why I’ve never heard from you.”

I notice he’s not asking me that question but merely stating it for his own comprehension.

“I guess I could say the same thing.”

“I didn’t…” He breathes, choosing his next words, and when he meets my eyes again, his are glistening. “Ledger, I wasn’t some monster who killed your mother in a fit of rage. And if that’s what you’ve been led to believe all these years…” He shakes his head. “Well, fuck. I’m sorry for that.”

My heart pounds in my chest.

That’s exactly what I was led to believe.

How could it have happened any other way?

Why would someone just make shit up like that?

“I can tell from the expression on your face that that’s exactly what you were led to believe.”

I nod silently but my composure slips a little.

Everything was a lie?

My entire childhood…

Everything I’ve ever been told…

It isn’t true?

“Explain,” I demand.

He swallows and shakes his head, taking a deep breath before he speaks again.

“I was drunk…and outrageously stupid,” he starts.

When I don’t speak again he continues. “I loved your mother, Ledger. She was my world. My whole life. We had had an argument a few days prior and were still arguing about it a bit in front of a few of her friends the night she died. We were at this restaurant that she loved. It was a party for one of her work friends. We had had too much to drink and I got behind the wheel.” He glances down, his fingers fidgeting, and when he looks back up at me, he sighs and a line of tears spills down his cheeks.

“We had just picked you up from the sitter and were on our way home. She turned down the radio and I wanted it up and when I looked down, I veered too far to the center of the road and lost control of the car. We hit another car head-on and she…she…” He wipes his hand across his nose. “She died on the scene.”

Something in my stomach plummets and my heart shatters inside my chest as I watch my father relive the hurtful memories.

“I’m sorry, Ledger,” he says, crying now.

“I’m so fucking sorry. It should’ve been me to die that night.

It should’ve been me but I was able to walk away with nothing more than a couple of broken ribs and a twisted ankle.

And you…” His eyes grow huge. “You were so scared. You had no idea what had just happened but when the police showed up they could see I was drunk and they took me away,” he cries.

“They took me away and I never saw you again.”

I shake my head, my fingers curling into my fists.

“I don’t understand,” I say, my voice low and strained.

“If it was an accident, why did you leave me? Why did you leave me to rot in foster care?” I choke on my words as I bring my hand to my chest. “Why didn’t you fucking fight for me?

What else did you do that put you here because I’m pretty damn sure you don’t end up in prison from a tragic automobile accident. ”

More tears run down his face. “I wasn’t allowed to fight for you, Ledger, because your mom’s friends thought maybe I did it on purpose.

That maybe I was trying to hurt your mom or all of us.

When they heard us arguing they assumed it was much worse than it really was.

But couples argue.” He shrugs helplessly.

“That’s marriage. That’s fucking life. Nobody is perfect.

But your mom and I…we worked so damn hard on our marriage.

I swear to God, I never would have hurt her.

I loved her so goddamn much. Her friends told the police what they thought they knew and I haven’t been outside of this prison since.

I got twenty-five years for manslaughter.

You were taken away immediately. I wrote letters.

I wrote letters to you all the time. Sent letters on your birthday. ”

“Letters?”

“To your foster homes. Social workers. Judges. I wanted to check up on you. Let you know I loved you and missed you. But every letter I wrote was ignored or returned. After a while, I didn’t want to poison your life more than I already had.

I figured…maybe you’d be safer not knowing me.

” His body deflates and his shoulders fall. “I’m sorry, Ledger.”

“I thought you were a monster.”

My father sniffles and nods slowly.