I bolt upright, the sheet tangling around my legs as I stumble from the bed. My hands rake through my hair, gripping hard enough to hurt.
"My son?" The words taste foreign on my tongue. "How long have you known?"
"Since Chicago. I found out I was pregnant two months after I left."
"And you didn't think to tell me?" My voice rises. "For five years, Janie? Five fucking years?"
"I tried!" Her words rush out. "I called you. I texted you. Over and over. But you blocked my number, Warren. You cut me off completely."
I pace across the room, unable to stand still as memories realign themselves. The boy's dark hair. The way he furrows his brow when concentrating. My son.
My son.
"That's a fucking copout. I wasn't some goddamned stranger. You knew how to reach me if you needed to tell me something important. I'd say this falls in that category."
"You're right. I'm sorry."
"Who else knows?" I whirl to face her. "Does Blake know? Your parents?"
"No one except Gemma. I never told anyone else who his father was."
"So you let me walk back into your life, into his life, without saying a word?" My chest burns with each breath. "You sat across from me in meetings. You watched me with him at your parents' house. All while knowing?—"
"I was afraid!" She reaches for me, but I step back. "I was afraid of losing my job, my family. I was afraid you'd hate me, or worse—that you wouldn't want him."
Her desperation only fuels the fire burning through me.Five years of his life. His birth. First steps. First words. Everything. Stolen.
"I have a son." The words come out hollow, stunned. "I have a son, and you kept him from me."
"We can tell my parents together." Janie's voice cracks as she reaches for her robe, her fingers fumbling with the belt. "I'll call Blake right now. We can?—"
"Don't." The word slashes through the room. "You fucking kept this secret from everyone for five goddamned years. You won't tell a soul until I tell you to."
My hands shake as I yank my pants on, the contradiction tearing me apart. I'm furious she kept this from me, yet I'm demanding she continue keeping it a secret. The rage has nowhere to go but out.
"Warren, please—" She touches my arm, her fingers burning like brands.
I jerk away. "Five years, Janie. Five years I can never get back. How could you?"
The walls close in as I button my shirt, missing holes as my hands shake uncontrollably. My breath comes in short bursts, my vision narrowing to a tunnel. I need air. I need space. I need to not be in this room with her, and the weight of what she's done.
"Let me explain?—"
"Explain? There's nothing to explain." My voice sounds foreign, stripped and raw. "You made your choice. You decided I didn't deserve to know my own son."
Her tears flow freely now, but they don't move me. Not when I'm drowning in the magnitude of what's been stolen.
"I need to think about this." The promise comes automatically, the family lawyer in me knowing what must happen next. "We'll figure out a custody arrangement."
I drive without direction, the streets a blur through thesting in my eyes. I tell myself to keep going, to get as far from her as I can.
But when I finally stop, I’m right back where I started. Parked in front of her house.
Her house. Their house.
A light glows faintly through the curtains. Somewhere inside, my son sleeps. My son. The words are foreign, jagged in my chest. "My" and "son" don't belong in my mouth.
He’s just feet from where I sit, and yet I’ve never been further from him.