It's all for naught. There's no hiding it.
I grab the papers and step out into the morning sunshine that's uncannily bright and cheerful for what's happening.
What will I tell them? The truth, finally, after five years of lies? That Warren is Beckett's father, that I've been sleeping with him this whole time while hiding it from everyone?
I open the door. This house is more familiar and comforting than my own home.
"Mom? Are you home?" I call out.
Mom appears in the hallway, flour dusting her hands, her eyes widening at the sight of me.
"Janie? What are you doing here at this hour? Shouldn't you be at work?"
Her smile fades as she takes in my appearance. Without a word, she puts the rag in her apron pocket and opens her arms. I fall into them, inhaling the scent of vanilla and cinnamon that's always meant home.
"Oh, sweetheart," she murmurs against my hair. "Is everything okay?"
I can’t speak yet, just shake my head against her shoulder. She holds me tighter, then eases back, eyes searching mine with that careful scrutiny only mothers possess.
"Come on." She guides me toward the kitchen, her arm firm around my waist. "Sit down. Tell me what’s going on."
The kitchen table, the scratched wood that’s witnessed decades of family confessions, waits for one more. I drop into my usual chair, the folder landing with a soft thud on the tabletop.
"Mom." My voice cracks. "There’s so much I haven’t told you."
"Well," she says softly, folding her hands, "let’s start at the beginning."
"Warren is Beckett’s father."
Her lips part, but she doesn’t speak. Not yet.
Finally, she exhales, steady and slow. “I wondered,” she admits softly. “The way Warren looks at him sometimes, the way Beckett mirrors him, the fact that he's always around. I thought maybe, but I didn’t want to push you before you were ready. Why didn't you tell me?"
Heat floods my cheeks. I’ve carried this secret so long, I almost forgot my mother could see through me.
"I don't know, Mom. I was scared. It was the night of the going-away party. I’d had too much to drink, and he’d been trying to keep me laughing when everyone else had left. And then it happened. Just once. I never told him I was pregnant."
Her brows knit. “Janie… you never told him?”
"I tried," I rush out. "I called, texted. But when I realized he’d blocked me… I just—" My voice falters.
"Oh, my god, Janie."
"He’s always said he didn’t want to be a father. And I knew how worried he was about Blake even back then. So I resolved I’d raise Beckett on my own."
She exhales a long breath, but her eyes stay kind.
"Everything was fine until I got this job back in Palm Beach, and realized he was on the board. We had to work together, and… one thing led to another. Against both of us trying not to, we ended up sleeping together again."
"Oh, sweetheart. What tangled webs we weave."
"Once that happened, I knew I had to tell him the truth. So I did. And he—" My throat tightens. "He didn’t take it well."
"Of course he didn’t, honey," she says gently. "You have to understand that."
"I know," I whisper. "But over the last several weeks, we’ve been working through it. Slowly. We’ve been seeing each other again."
A faint smile curves her lips. "That makes sense. He’s been everywhere lately, always circling close. A man doesn’t show up like that unless he’s already tied to you in ways he can’t let go."