“Do you need me now?”
“Yes.”
“I’m coming.”
While we waited, I sat at the kitchen table with Lucas.
I gave him orange juice because his hands were shaking and I needed to do something ordinary.
He watched me carefully.
“Are you mad?”
“Yes.”
His eyes filled.
“Not at you.”
He looked down.
“I knew for a while.”
“You’re nine.”
“But I knew.”
“That does not make it your responsibility.”
He ran his thumb over the edge of the glass.
“Mom said it was adult stuff.”
“She was right about that part.”
“Are you still my dad?”
I answered instantly.
“Yes.”
“But Marcus—”
“I don't care what Marcus is right now.”
That wasn't true.
I cared so much I could feel nausea climbing into my throat.
But one truth remained stronger.
I had been there when Lucas was born.
I had cut the cord.
Changed diapers.
Walked hospital hallways when pneumonia put him on oxygen at eighteen months.
Taught him to ride a bike.
Carried him home after he broke his wrist.
Knew he hated mushrooms and loved old monster movies.
Knew he pretended he wasn't afraid of thunderstorms and then mysteriously ended up in our room every time lightning got close.
DNA could explain where he came from.
It could not erase who I had been to him.
Beth arrived.
Lucas ran into her arms.
She looked over his head at me.
“What happened?”
“Later.”
She nodded.
No questions.
Lucas hugged me before leaving.
Then again at the door.
“You’re coming tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
He left.
I closed the door.
Then I went upstairs.
Allison was sitting on the guest-room bed.
Marcus stood near the window.
The black duffel bag rested between them.
I stayed in the doorway.
“How long?”
Allison looked at me.
“Ryan—”
“How long have you known Lucas isn’t mine?”
Her face collapsed.
“Since he was almost three.”
I stared.
“Six years?”
She nodded.
I laughed.
The sound frightened even me.
“You knew for six years.”
“I wasn’t certain at first.”
“And after?”
She said nothing.
I pointed toward Marcus.
“How did you become certain?”
The man looked at the duffel.
That was when I saw the envelope sticking from the side pocket.
Thick.
White.
Medical laboratory logo.
I stepped forward.
Allison rose.
“Ryan.”
I took the envelope.
She reached for it.
“Don't.”
I looked at her.
She stopped.
I opened it.
Genetic testing.
Names.
Dates.
Probability of paternity: 99.99%.
MARCUS DENTON.
LUCAS CALLOWAY.
My son.
I read it again.
Nothing changed.
The test had been done six years earlier.
I placed the paper on the bed.
“You had this.”
“Yes.”
“In our house?”
“No.”
“Where?”
“Marcus had the original.”
I looked at him.
He nodded.
“I kept it.”
I turned back to Allison.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”