Chapter 13
He looked exhausted.
“Did you sleep?”
“No.”
“Neither did I.”
He sat.
“Where are the children?”
“With Rebecca.”
His eyes widened.
“Your sister knows?”
“Since the beginning.”
“Your parents?”
“Yes.”
He leaned back.
“So everyone knew except me.”
“Everyone in my immediate family.”
“That is not better.”
“I wasn’t trying to make it better.”
He looked down.
Then he said something unexpected.
“Did you have a difficult pregnancy?”
I answered honestly.
“Yes.”
“How difficult?”
“Triplets are automatically high risk. I was on modified bed rest near the end. They were born at thirty-three weeks.”
“NICU?”
“Alex for twelve days. Ethan fourteen. Lily seventeen.”
Ryan closed his eyes.
The anger left his face.
For the first time, I understood the scale of what he was imagining.
Three incubators.
Tiny fingers.
Monitors.
And no knowledge they existed.
“I should have been there.”
“Yes.”
I did not soften it.
He opened his eyes.
“Do you have pictures?”
The question broke something in me.
Of course I did.
Thousands.
I opened my phone.
The first picture I showed him was from the NICU.
Alex’s hand wrapped around my finger.
Ryan stared.
Then Ethan.
Then Lily asleep against Rebecca’s chest.
First birthday.
Three cakes.
First Halloween.
Alex as an astronaut.
Ethan as a firefighter.
Lily as a ladybug.
Their first day of preschool.
Ryan looked at every picture.
He did not rush.
At one point, he turned his face away.
I pretended not to notice.
Finally he asked, “Why Alexander?”
“I liked Alex.”
“Ethan?”
“Rebecca suggested it.”
“Lily?”
I smiled despite myself.
“She looked like a Lily.”
He nodded.
Then he looked at the table.
“My father’s middle name was James.”
“I know.”
Alex’s middle name.
He understood.
“You gave him James.”
“I wasn’t trying to erase you, Ryan.”
He looked at me sharply.
“What were you trying to do?”
“Survive you.”
That landed.
He sat back.
Neither of us spoke.
Then he said, “I want to know them.”
I looked at him.
“I know.”
“And I will not disappear because this is difficult.”
“I know.”
“If the DNA test confirms—”
“It will.”
“Then I want a real relationship with my children.”
I folded my hands.
“You can have the opportunity to build one.”
His expression changed.
“Opportunity?”
“Yes.”
“They aren’t assets you acquire because someone confirms ownership.”
His mouth tightened.
“I know that.”
“Do you? Because you cannot walk into their lives as Ryan Whitmore and expect access to work the way it does everywhere else.”