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“You don’t have to,” I say, quickly, but he’s already shrugging into his jacket.

“I don’t mind. I was going to do it in the morning, but it’s probably best I’m not around when he’s on the phone.”

“Yeah. I guess it is. Thank you.”

He closes the front door softly behind him, and I glance up the stairs, shaking my head and bracing myself as I head up.

They’ve abandoned the cards, and Caitlin is reading one of James’s favorite books aloud to him, while he snuggles into her.

“This looks cozy,” I say, perching on the end of the bed. “Your dad called. We’re going to call him back in a second.”

“Do we have to?” Caitlin says, wrinkling her nose.

“Just for a little while. But after, you can both stay up and watch a movie. How does that sound?”

She used to love calling Dom, but these days, I always have to give them something to look forward to after the call. Not a bribe but … Yes, a bribe, I suppose. I don’t like forcing them, but I want them to have some kind of a relationship with their dad, even if it is the bare minimum. Besides, I don’t want to piss Dom off. I don’t think he’d ever try to take them away from me, but I’ve never been sure. He’s older than me, would offer them a more stable home on paper, and he has more resources if he ever did take me to court to get custody of them and take them back to Ireland with him. It’s not something I’m willing to risk.

“Okay.” She doesn’t sound happy about it. James says nothing, but the sparkle he had while playing snap is gone.

“Your dad doesn’t know Killian is here, so please don’t mention him.”

“Like a secret?”

“No,” I rush to say. “We don’t keep secrets, remember? It’s a surprise. One we can’t tell your dad about yet.”

I hate lying to them, but they both look a fraction more interested at the idea of a surprise. We can’t stop Dom from finding out forever, but when and how he does is up to Killian and his siblings. I assume they’ll want to tell their mom first, and that’s not going to be an easy conversation.

I pull out my phone and call Dom back, passing the phone to Caitlin.

The second I hear Dom’s voice coming from the speaker, I want to snatch it back and hang up on him. I’ve spent years just focused on appreciating what I have, working my ass off for the kids, and not letting myself think too much about the mess Dom left behind.

For the first time, I’m angry. Furious. For lying to his wife, his kids, me. For the fact that one day, Caitlin and James will be old enough to understand they’re the result of an affair. For the years they’ve been deprived of a family that, according to Killian, would have embraced them with open arms, regardless of the circumstances of their conception.

I force myself to smile when Caitlin turns the phone in my direction, but otherwise I sit cross-legged on the end of her bed and listen to their surface-level conversation.

Dom asks how they’ve been, how’s school, if they’ve done anything fun. They’re basic questions, and he shows no interest in their answers, but Caitlin does her best to reply, and to include James in the conversation, since Dom never asks him anything directly. I send him updates on what they’re doing, and pictures most days, but he rarely responds. For now, the kids are too young to notice that he barely pays attention, but I know that won’t last forever.

All in all, the conversation is over before it ever has the chance to begin. Lionel, the grumpy old man who works at the grocery store, shows more interest in them than their own dad does.

I hate this. They deserve more than this.

“Not too loud, okay?” I swap my phone for the TV remote. “I’ll be up soon to tuck you in. I just need to talk to your dad first,” I tell them, but they’re already excitedly flicking through movies when I close the door.

“Just give me a sec to get downstairs,” I tell Dom, and mentally pat myself on the back for not sounding as mad as I am.

“How are you, sweetheart?” he asks when I sit down and hold my phone up.

“Fine, yeah. You?”

“Och, you know. Same old, same old,” he replies, dismissively. I take him in, as much as I can, considering he’s sitting in a dark room. It’s been almost nine years since I met him, and I know I’m the one that’s changed most, but I do have to wonder what I saw in him all those years ago. His hair is peppery gray, and he has deep crinkles around his piercing green eyes that I once thought were a sign he laughed a lot. Now that I’m more clear-headed and less full of alcohol (like the night we met) or hormones (pre- and postpartum), I can recognize that he just looks like a man in his fifties.

“Caitlin’s been asking when you’re coming to see them,” I say, and a flicker of irritation flashes across his face.

“I want to. But things are so busy right now. I don’t know when I’ll be able to get away. I’ll send Christmas presents.”

I grit my teeth. “That’s not— Never mind. I understand.”

Dom’s not stupid—he can tell I’m not happy— but he doesn’t bother to try and explain himself. We both know I’ve heard it all before.