She stared at me, tears still streaming down her face, her chest heaving with emotion. “Does Frankie know?”
The question hung in the air between us.
My silence was answer enough.
“Oh my God.” She stepped back, her hand flying to her mouth. “She knows. Frankie knows you’re her father.”
“Yes.”
“How long?” Her voice was barely a whisper now. “How long has she known?”
“She remembered me from when she was two,” I said quietly. “She recognized my voice when I came to fix the sink. She told me today, in the woods when I found her.”
“Today.” Kat’s laugh was hollow, broken. “So you’ve known for hours.Hours. And you still didn’t tell me.”
“I was going to—”
“When?” she demanded. “When were you going to tell me, Derek? After another week? Another month? Were you ever going to tell me, or were you just going to let me figure it out on my own?”
Each question landed sharp and devastating. Each accusation was deserved.
“I can’t do this,” she said finally. “I can’t... I can’t have you here right now.”
“Kat—”
“No.” She held up her hand. “I need you to leave.”
“Please,” I said, and I hated how desperate I sounded. “Let me explain—”
“I need you to leave,” she said again, quieter this time. “I need you out of my house.”
I nodded slowly. “Okay.”
“I mean it, Derek.” Her eyes were red, swollen from crying, but her voice was steel. “I can’t look at you right now. I can’t... I can’t be in the same room with you.”
“I understand.” And I did. I understood completely.
I turned toward the door, each step feeling like I was walking through concrete. My hand reached for the doorknob, and I paused.
“For what it’s worth,” I said without turning around, “I love her. I love Frankie. And I love you. That’s the truth; if you don’t believe anything else I’ve said, believe that.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Katrina
His parting words hung heavy in the air between us, devastating and impossible.
I wanted to say something. Wanted to tell him I loved him too, that I was terrified, that I didn’t know how to reconcile the man who protected my daughter with the man who’d beaten his wife. But the words stuck in my throat, trapped behind the weight of everything I’d learned tonight. My hand lifted, just an inch, just enough to reach toward him before I caught myself and let it fall back to my side.
Derek didn’t wait for a response. He opened the door and stepped out without looking back.
My body moved before my mind could stop it. I pressed my forehead against the window, my palm flat against the cold glass, watching as he walked to his truck. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the driveway, stretching his silhouette thin and fragile. He climbed into the driver’s seat, and for a moment he sat there with his hands on the steering wheel, his head bowed.
Call him back,something inside me screamed.Run after him. Tell him to stay.
But my feet wouldn’t move. My voice wouldn’t work.
Then the engine roared to life.
