The last week of January,my mother showed up at my office. One look at her expression told me this wasn’t a social visit.
“Would you like something to drink?” I asked, already tense.
“No.” She slid a black file across my desk, her jaw rigid. “I knew she was bad news.”
My stomach dropped. “Are you talking about Nyah?”
“Read it.”
I opened the file.
Her picture stared back at me and beneath it, pages of information. Most of it I already knew: orphaned, adopted Lucas, and a brief mention of Harper.
But then I saw it.
Nyah Rodriguez didn’t exist eight years ago.
There was nothing before that. No records. No trail.
“You had her investigated?” My voice rose before I could stop it.
Ignoring me, my mother folded her arms. “What has she told you about herself, Caleb?”
I searched my memory—and found not facts, but details.
Lilies. The way she doodled intricate patterns when she talked on the phone. Ice cream hidden in her freezer like a guilty pleasure. Recipe books stacked on her counter. Her laugh with Lucas. Her patience. Her kindness.
Her heart.
“I know enough to know she’s a good person,” I said firmly. “Her past doesn’t interest me.”
She smiled thinly. “If you’re happy with that, honey, then that’s wonderful. I just thought you should know the kind of person you’re becoming…friendlywith.”
The way she emphasized the word made my blood boil.
When she left, her crooked smile lingered like a bruise.
I paced my office, fury coiling tight in my chest.How dare she interfere in my life and have Nyah investigated? She doesn’t have any right to do that. This is my life and my choice!
But the questions crept in anyway.
Who was Nyah eight years ago? What had happened that made her change her name? And—worst of all—could her past change the way I felt about her?
I hated myself for even wondering.
But the seed had been planted. And it was already taking root.
I hesitatedoutside Nyah’s apartment longer than I should have. I knew I was walking into dangerous territory, but the need to understand her—reallyunderstand her—outweighed the feelings in my heart. Curiosity had clawed its way past restraint, past patience, past the voice telling me to wait.
I showed up unannounced that night, and I knew immediately she felt the shift.
Dinner passed in fragments. I answered Lucas in single words, my attention split between the table and the weight pressing against my chest. I kept running a hand through my hair, rehearsing and discarding a hundred ways to ask what I needed to know.
“Is everything all right?” Nyah asked softly, her fingers brushing mine.
The warmth of her touch nearly stopped me. For a moment, I weighed the risk—heart versus truth.
I chose truth.
