“What do you order, Dan?” Angelos says, still blissfully unaware of the razor-wire tension between us.
“I’ll have the same as your mum. I'm feeling a little sour right now.”
Rose sucks in a breath, her hand trembling as she gathers the mugs from the worktop and rinses them in the sink.
Angelos shrugs. “Boring, but okay.” He wanders off to place the order, leaving just me and Rose in the kitchen.
The second he’s gone, she’s on me. “Are you out of your mind?” She hisses, stepping closer.
I tilt my head. “Why? Because I want to sit at a table with my son?”
Her breath shudders out, and for a second, vulnerability flashes in her eyes before she blinks it away. “He’s not yours.”
“Now who’s full of bullshit?” My voice drops raw, barely more than a whisper. “You’ve had thirteen years, Rose. Were you ever going to tell me?”
She flinches. It’s a small thing, a tiny crack in her armour, but I see it.
I step closer, lowering my voice. “Do you know what it’s like to look at someone and see yourself staring back? To know before a single word is spoken?”
Her jaw tightens, but she doesn’t pull away.
I let the silence stretch, let the weight of it settle between us before I finally say, “We need to talk, Rose.”
She swallows hard, then turns away, busying herself with the pots. “Not tonight.”
I exhale slowly, running a hand through my hair. “When?”
“I only have him for tonight, and then he’s back at school tomorrow. Please, Dan.”
“Tomorrow?”
She nods once, but I don’t miss the way her hands tremble as she puts the mugs in the cupboard. A tiny tremble, barely noticeable, but I see it. Just like I see every other damn thing she’s trying to hide.
Thirteen years.
I grind my teeth so hard my jaw aches. My whole damnworld has just shifted beneath my feet. I scrub a hand over my face, trying to force some kind of rational thought through the roar in my head. I should walk out, take a breath, get my head on straight before I do something stupid.
But I can’t.
Because my kid is in the next room picking out food from a Chinese takeaway menu like this is just another normal fucking night.
And because Rose—Rose, who I would have once died for—never told me. Never gave me the choice.
I lean against the counter, watching her like I’m trying to crack a code. “You weren’t going to say anything, were you?”
She inhales sharply but doesn’t turn around. “Dan?—”
“No, go on. Tell me how you were planning to never tell me.”
Her shoulders stiffen. “He can never be yours.”
The words land like a punch to the gut. Not because she doesn’t want me to be his dad—but because she’s convinced I can’t. I straighten, ice crawling through my veins. “You don’t get to decide that.”
She finally turns, her blue eyes flashing with anger and guilt. “Like hell I don’t. I raised him, Dan.”
“And I didn’t even get a chance.” My voice is quieter now, but there’s an edge to it I know she hears.
Her lips part, but nothing comes out.
