"Sadie—"
"I saw the way women looked at you. I heard the stories from Holly about the girls who threw themselves at you after games. And I thought, if I stay until morning, if I let this be more than it was, I'm going to get my heart broken." My voice cracked. "So, I left. I ran like a coward because I was too scared to find out if I mattered at all."
Easton's jaw clenched, but he didn't interrupt.
"And then nine weeks later, I found out I was pregnant." The tears were coming now, hot and fast. "I was alone in my apartment in a different state, staring at that positive test, and I was terrified. I wanted to call you. God, Easton, I picked up the phone so many times."
"Then why didn't you?" His voice was strained, controlled. "Why didn't you call? Text? Send a fucking carrier pigeon? Anything?"
"Because I was scared!" The words burst out of me. "I was scared you'd think I was trying to trap you. Scared you'd offer me money to get rid of her. Scared you'd want nothing to do with us. And even more…" I had to force the next words out. "I was scared you'd try to take her from me."
His head snapped up. "What?"
"You were already successful. Already had money, connections, a career. I was a broke vet student working two jobs just to afford textbooks. If you'd wanted custody, Easton, what chance would I have had? You could have buried me in legal fees, proved I was unfit because I couldn't provide for her the way you could." My voice dropped to a whisper. "So, I convinced myself it was better if you never knew. That I was protecting her. Protecting us both."
"Jesus, Sadie." He ran both hands through his hair, his breathing uneven. "Did you really think I'd do that? That I'd try to take her from you?"
"I didn't know what you'd do! I barely knew you!" The admission hung between us, ugly and true. "One night. That's all we had. One night that I ran away from. How was I supposed to know what kind of man you were? What kind of father you'd be?"
The silence stretched, painful and heavy.
When Easton finally spoke, his voice was rough. "I would have been there. For both of you. I would have figured it out."
"I know that now," I said. "But I didn't know it then. And by the time Casey was born, by the time she was six months old, a year old, two years old… the lie had a life of its own. I'd convinced myself I was doing the right thing. That she was better off without the complication of you in her life. That I was protecting her from…" I gestured helplessly. "From exactly what happened this week. The media. The scrutiny. The chaos."
"You were protecting yourself," Easton said quietly. Not accusatory, just… tired. "From having to deal with me."
It would have been easy to deny it. But we were past easy truths.
"Yeah," I admitted, my voice breaking. "I was protecting myself, too. From needing you. From being vulnerable. From the possibility that you'd reject us, or worse, that you'd be there, and I'd fall for you, and then you'd leave, anyway."
Easton leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. I watched his throat work, saw the muscle in his jaw tick.
"I missed everything," he finally said, his voice barely audible. "Her first steps. Her first words. First day of kindergarten. First time she had learned to skate. Six years, Sadie. Six years of my daughter's life that I can never get back."
The tears were streaming down my face now. "I know. I'm so sorry. I…"
"I think about it constantly." He still wasn't looking at me. "Every time she tells me a story about when she was little, every time I see a picture from before I knew her, I think about what I missed. And it makes me so fucking angry."
"I don't blame you for being angry," I choked out. "I robbed you of those years. I made a choice that affected all three of us, and I didn't give you a say. Nothing I do can give you that time back. Nothing I say can make it right."
"No," he agreed, finally looking at me. His eyes were red. "It can't."
We sat in heavy silence.
"I thought I was doing the right thing," I said. "For so long, I genuinely believed I was protecting her. Protecting us. And maybe at first, when I was twenty-four and terrified, maybe that was partly true. But somewhere along the way, it stopped being about protection and started being about fear. My fear. My issues. My inability to trust anyone." I looked at him, needing him to understand. "You deserved better. Casey deserved better. And I'm so, so sorry."
Easton didn't respond immediately. He just sat there, processing. When he finally spoke, his voice was raw.
"I want to forgive you. I'm trying to forgive you. But I don't know how to let go of all that anger when I look at Casey and think about everything I missed."
"Then don't," I said, my voice breaking. "Don't let it go. Be angry. Grieve what you lost. I'll take it. I deserve it. Just… don't leave. Don't walk away from Casey because you can't stand to be around me."
"Is that what you think?" He turned to face me fully now. "That I'd walk away from my daughter because I'm angry at you?"
"I don't know what to think anymore."
He reached out, taking my hand. His grip was tight, almost painful.
