I look at Marcus, my father. Then at my mother.
“Tell me everything. I need to understand.”
She nods.
“Mitchell and I were already coming apart. Not in a way anyone else could see, but it was there. He was gone more than he was home. And when he was home...” She trails off. “He wasn't really there. That's when I met Marcus and fell pregnant. And I knew Mitchell would realize he wasn't the father.”
A pause.
“So I made sure he wouldn't question it.”
The pieces slide together all at once.
“I knew exactly what I was doing. We’re being honest, so I’m not going to pretend otherwise. And as far as I know, he never questioned it.”
There’s a difference between something uncertain and something chosen. This wasn’t confusion. It was deliberate.
“And you?” I say, looking at Marcus. “Did you know I was your son?”
He stays where he is for a moment, then finally turns from the window to look at me.
“I knew.” He exhales slowly. “We both knew what she was going to do. I went along with it.”
No attempt to soften it.
“I kept coming back to the same question. What would actually be different if you grew up as my son instead of Mitchell’s?”
He pauses.
“My name instead of his. My life instead of his. And every time I thought it through, it felt like I’d be taking more from you than I’d be giving. Mitchell could give you things I couldn’t. And I knew it.”
I don’t understand that. Not instinctively.
There isn’t a version of me that would let another man raise my son. I’d burn my entire life to the ground before I let that happen.
The name. The fortune. Everything attached to it.
If I’m not Mitchell’s son, then none of it belongs to me. And the strange thing is, I don’t care. Not even a little.
Charlotte is his only surviving child. It was always hers.
I’m Marcus Shepherd’s son, which means none of it was ever mine to begin with.
I look at the woman beside me. The woman who has my heart. The woman carrying my child. That’s what I have. And somehow, it feels like more than enough.
Mum glances between Charlotte and me.
“You and Charlotte have options now. If you establish paternity formally—through testing and documentation—everything changes.”
“We’ll need a lawyer,” I say.
“We already have the best one,” Charlotte says. “I’ll call her tomorrow and explain everything so we can begin the process of making this right.”
I look at my mother. “It’s still not simple. I know what it means—saying Dad isn’t my father, walking away from the name, the inheritance. But I don’t care about any of it. I’d give it up this second if that’s what it takes to be with Charlotte and my son.”
Marcus clears his throat. “I’ve been putting money aside for years. It’s not Gallagher money. I know it’s not close to what you?—”
“I don’t want your money.”
