“It’s complicated.”
I laughed. Actually laughed. The sound surprised everyone in the room, because there was nothing funny about any of this. But it’s complicated felt absurd. Years of deception. Years of lies. Years of betrayal. And that was the best he could offer.
“Is he your son?”
Eric remained silent.
“Answer me.”
His shoulders dropped.
And finally, he nodded.
The room went completely still.
Something inside me shattered. Not loudly, not dramatically. Quietly. Like glass cracking under pressure. Because hope died in that moment. Every excuse. Every second chance. Every promise. Gone.
“Get out.”
“Claire, please—”
“Get out.”
“I can explain.”
“Get out.”
His voice became desperate. “You’re carrying my child.”
The words echoed through the room. And suddenly I felt strangely calm. Because for the first time I understood something clearly. This man wasn’t sorry for what he had done. He was sorry he had been caught.
There was a difference. A massive difference.
“You left your child on the side of the road yesterday,” I said quietly.
His mouth opened. Then closed.
“You left both of us.”
No argument came. No defense. Because there wasn’t one.
Security stepped forward. Eric looked around the room one last time, searching for sympathy, for support, for someone to rescue him.
Nobody moved. Not my father. Not Megan. Not me.
As he was escorted out, he turned back toward the doorway. “Claire, don’t do this.”
I stared at him. Then I looked down at my stomach. At the tiny life I had spent months protecting.
“File for divorce,” I told my father.
The room fell silent.
My father nodded once. “Already done.”
I blinked. “What?”
He reached into the folder, pulled out several documents, and placed them gently on my bedside table.
“The attorney started this morning.”
For the first time in twenty-four hours, I felt something other than fear.
Relief.
But it didn’t last long. Because just as my father set the papers down, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen. His expression changed instantly.
The call was from the private investigator.
