When I finished packing up and got home,
my son was already there, let out of school early, sitting on the couch.
His eyes were red and swollen. He'd clearly been crying.
My chest tightened. I went straight to him and asked what was wrong.
Between hiccupping sobs, he said,
：“The other kids called me a liar. They said I was making it up, claiming somebody else's dad was mine.”
“But Daddy IS my daddy. They wouldn't believe me. None of them would play with me.”
The more he talked, the more it hurt, and the tears spilled over again.
I pulled him into my arms, aching for him, soothing him, while a thread of suspicion in my chest slowly began to swell.
Once he'd calmed down, I called his homeroom teacher.
But she turned the question back on me.
：“Ms. Hayward, are you a single mother?”
“I've held so many parent meetings and never once seen Francis's father. I assumed it was a single-parent home. Then today he pointed at one of our sponsors and said that was his dad.”
“But that man has a wife. She came to tour the school grounds with him, too. They said once their baby was born, this is where the child would go.”
A cold spread through every inch of me. My mind raced to fit the pieces together.
No wonder Blake always refused to come to Francis's parent meetings. I'd thought he was genuinely swamped. It turned out he'd been busy being a devoted father to the baby in Shelagh Simmons's belly.
He didn't want a single thread connecting him to our son.
My heart felt like it was being wrenched in a brutal grip. Carefully, I asked her,
：“This sponsor of yours, is his name Blake Sanchez? And his wife, Shelagh Simmons?”
“Yes, that's right! They had a wedding overseas just three months ago. Quite the lavish affair, I heard.”
My breath caught.
Three months ago, Blake had suddenly said he had a business trip. Seven days straight, he didn't answer my calls or reply to my messages.
I'd lain awake night after night, terrified something had happened to him.
He'd been off getting married.
And the baby in Shelagh's belly could only be his.
But if he and Shelagh were married, then what did that make me?
A sick premonition rose in me. I had someone check my marital status.
The result: Blake and I had been divorced a year ago.
Right around the time Shelagh came back to the country.
Shaking with rage, I called Blake.
One ring, two……all the way to the fifteenth.
Only then did someone pick up.
But the voice on the line was Shelagh's.
“Oh, sis, looking for Blake? He's in the shower right now.”
“Don't bother waiting up for him tonight. He's keeping me and the baby company. No time to deal with you and your son.”
My voice went cold.
：“Where are you?”
Shelagh said nothing. She just hung up.
Fury surged through my chest like a tide, but I couldn't let it break in front of my son.
I lowered my eyes to him on the couch and asked,
：“If Mommy and Daddy got divorced, would you come with Mommy?”
He panicked the instant the words left my mouth.
：“Doesn't Mommy want Daddy anymore? But I don't want you to split up.”
“Give Daddy one more chance, okay? When he comes home, I'll talk to him nicely, I promise.”
“Tomorrow's my birthday. He said he'd have a big surprise for me.”
A six-year-old can't understand the tangled grudges between grown-ups.
He only thought Blake and I had had a fight, and that we'd make up like always.
I didn't want to put him in that position.
But Blake didn't come home until the middle of the next night.
He'd clearly just rolled in from some business outing, reeking of liquor.
There was a vivid lipstick stain on his collar.
I sat on the couch, holding my son.
“Where's Francis's birthday present?”
“I forgot.”
Blake faltered, a flicker of awkwardness crossing his face.
“I've been buried in work these last couple of days. I'll make it up to him another day.”
I knit my brows.
：“Busy with work, or busy taking care of Shelagh Simmons?”
His face darkened.
：“Stop with the snide remarks. If you can't talk like a normal person, then keep your mouth shut. It's just a present. It's not like he won't get one.”
With that, he went upstairs.
Clutching his tablet, my son told me, his little voice thick with hurt,
：“But Mommy, today Daddy threw a three-month party for the baby in Aunt Shelagh's tummy.”
That was how I learned Shelagh had posted on her social media feed.
A photo of a room buried under presents.
The caption read: ：“Having a daddy who adores you really does make all the difference. Only three months along and already showered with a lifetime's worth of gifts.”
Among them were the toy car and the Transformer my son had been longing for.
A sharp pain stabbed through my heart, and I held him tighter.
“Don't cry, sweetheart. Whatever you want, Mommy will take you to buy it tomorrow.”
