Page 81 of The Scars We Heal

With a roll of her eyes and a laugh, she retorted, “I’m not a dog, Jake.”

“No, you’re not.” I pointed the tongs at her. “But I also want to do this for you, so please, will you sit down?”

With a smile, she replied, “All right, fine. But the next time you come over to my—” She paused, her brows pinching together. “Er, well, your other house, you don’t get to lift a finger.”

With two plates—one for Caitlin and the other for Whitley—in hand, I came back out to the dining room. After setting down her plate, I planted a kiss on her forehead. “It’s your house, Cait. As long as you’re there, it’s yours.”

“Can I eat now, Mommy?” Whitley looked at her mom, her mouth gaped and practically salivating at the mac and cheese and chicken nuggets.

“Let Jake grab a plate first, bug.”

“But I want my chicken nuggets!” She slammed a fist down on the table, pulling a laugh from my lips.

“It’s okay. Go ahead, I’ll be right there.”

Sorry, Cait mouthed as Whitley tore into her food, stuffing chicken into her mouth.

I got my own plate as quickly as I could, even though it didn’t really matter anyway since Whitley was inhaling her food like a vacuum.

“Have you not started yet?” I asked Cait when I sat down.

She shook her head. “I wanted to wait for you.”

“Cait, you could have started.” I squeezed her shoulder.

“I know. I’m just really grateful you made all this. Thank you.”

Before I could respond, my phone buzzed, and both my eyes and Caitlin’s bounced down to the lit screen displaying a single text message notification.

Unknown Number

Hey, is this Jacob Flynn?

My brows furrowed as I looked back up to Cait. She nodded toward the phone, encouraging me to reply.

Who is this?

Unknown Number

My name’s Nolan. I think you might be my brother.

My dad and I did this DNA test and you were a match.

I stared down at the text messages, memories of my childhood flashing through my mind.

“Keep walking, Jacob, let’s go.” Mom pulled me along in the grocery store.

“Why do those people keep looking at us?”

“Just ignore them, okay?” She grabbed a few things off the shelves as whispers rose all around us.

“That boy looks nothing like this father.”

“Are we even sure he’s the dad?”

“Does it really matter? He’s going to turn out to be a failure just like him anyway. Look at all the trouble he’s already gotten into.”

“Mom.” I tugged on her sleeve. “Why are they asking if Dad is my real dad?”