"I was at the hospital when she fell into the lake." My voice cracked. "I held her hand. I stayed with you both all night. I thought my heart was going to stop when I saw her in that hospital bed, and the whole time you knew she was mine, and you said nothing!"
Tears streamed down her face, but I couldn't stop.
"Wednesday dinners. Hockey practice. Teaching her backward crossovers. Reading her bedtime stories." Each memory was a knife twisting deeper. "Every single moment, you watched me fall in love with her, and you let me think I was just Uncle Easton."
"I was trying to protect her!" Sadie shouted.
"From what? From me?" I stepped closer, and she backed up until she hit the wall. "I'm her father, Sadie! What were you protecting her from?"
"From you leaving!" The words burst out of her, raw and desperate. "From you deciding being a father was too hard, or too complicated, or interfered with your career! From her getting attached and then you disappearing when it got difficult!"
"You don't get to decide that for me!" My hands were shaking. "You don't get to make that choice!"
"You were playing for the Wolves! Focused on your career! Dating other women!" Her cheeks were flushed, mascara running. "You clearly didn't want commitment!"
"I didn't want a commitment with random hookups!" I shouted back. "But that was my child, Sadie! Mine! And you decided I didn't deserve to know she existed?
"Every time she called me Uncle Easton," I continued, voice dropping to something more dangerous, "did it amuse you? Watching me pretend to be something I wasn't?"
"That's not fair!"
"Fair?" I laughed bitterly. "You want to talk about fair? I missed six years of her life. Six years I can never get back. First words. First steps. Her first time on skates. First day of school. First lost tooth. All of it. Gone."
"You think I wanted this?" Sadie's voice cracked. "You think I wanted to raise her alone? To lie to her about her father? To watch her ask why all the other kids had dads at their games and she didn't?"
The words hit me hard, but I pushed through.
"Then why didn't you tell me?" I asked, quieter now but no less intense. "Two months ago, when I showed up for community service. Or when Casey told me I was her favorite person. Or when she asked if I'd ever be her real uncle, not just pretend."
Sadie's face crumpled. "She asked that?"
"Yes. And I told her I'd always be there for her. That I wasn't going anywhere." My voice broke. "And the whole time, I was already her father and didn't even know it."
"I was waiting for the right time," she whispered.
"There's never a right time for this, Sadie! You just tell the truth!" I ran my hands through my hair, trying to get control. "But you know what the worst part is?"
She didn't answer.
"You didn't trust me." The words came out flat, emotionless. "Seven years ago, maybe you had an excuse. But these past two months? You watched me with her. You saw how I was with Casey. And you still didn't trust me enough to tell me the truth."
"I was scared," she said, voice barely audible.
"Of what?"
"Of this! Of you being angry! Of you trying to take her from me!"
"I would never—" I stopped, took a breath. "I would never take her from you, Sadie. But I deserve to be her father. I deserve to have a say in her life. And she deserves to know the truth."
For a long moment, we just stared at each other, both breathing hard.
Then Sadie said quietly, "You haven't asked if she's okay."
The observation stopped me cold.
"What?"
"This whole time." Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. "You've talked about what you lost. What I kept from you. Your rights. Not once have you asked if she's okay. If she's happy. If she's been hurt by any of this."
