Men like Nico don’t stay. They have more money than they know what to do with and bloodlines to preserve by marrying well.
He has his life. And Noah and I, we have ours.
The thought makes something twist inside my chest, but I push it down. I’ve been pushing things down for years. I can do it again.
Because the one person who matters in all this, is Noah. I can’t keep lying to him anymore.
He’s sittingat the kitchen table when I come out, swinging his legs under the chair while he pokes at a bowl of cereal.
He looks up immediately.
I know this conversation can’t wait any longer.
“Noah,” I say gently.
He looks up again.
“Yeah?”
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
His eyebrows lift a little. “Am I in trouble?”
“No.” I force a small smile. “Nothing like that.”
He relaxes slightly. I take a breath.
“The man you met last night… Nico.”
“Yeah?”
“He’s your father.”
The words sit between us.
Noah blinks.
“That makes sense,” he says after a moment.
I stare at him.
“It does?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “We kinda look alike.”
I laugh weakly, because he’s not wrong.
“But,” I say carefully, “there’s something else you should understand.”
He waits.
“There’s a difference between a father and a dad.”
His spoon pauses halfway to his mouth.
“What’s the difference?”
“A father is the man who helped make you,” I say. “A dad is the man who stays. The one who takes care of you. The one who’s there every day.”
