Page 3
We arrived at Cedarcrest Estate just before sunset on Christmas Eve.
The house was enormous.
Stone walls.
Tall windows.
Snow covering the gardens.
Golden lights wrapped around the trees.
The boys pressed their faces against the car windows.
“Mom,” Samuel whispered.
“What?”
“Is that a castle?”
“Almost.”
When I parked, I saw several cars already there.
Adrian’s parents were there.
His older sister.
Two cousins.
And several people I didn’t recognize.
The boys climbed out.
I stood beside the car and took a breath.
Then I looked at them.
Four boys.
Four identical reminders of the man who had once broken my heart.
“Ready?”
Ethan nodded.
The others followed.
We walked toward the front door.
Before I could knock, it opened.
Adrian stood there.
Eight years had changed him.
His hair was shorter.
There were lines around his eyes.
He looked stronger.
Older.
More controlled.
But his face was still the face I remembered.
He looked at me first.
Then his eyes moved downward.
And stopped.
On Ethan.
Then Daniel.
Then Noah.
Then Samuel.
Nobody spoke.
Adrian’s face changed.
The color disappeared from it.
His lips parted slightly.
He looked at the four boys again.
Slowly.
Carefully.
As though he was looking at four pieces of a photograph he had spent years trying to forget.
Behind him, a woman’s voice said:
“Adrian?”
Vanessa appeared.
She was elegant.
Beautiful.
Perfectly dressed.
She smiled politely.
Then she saw the boys.
Her smile disappeared.
Adrian whispered:
“Who are they?”
I looked directly into his eyes.
“You invited us.”
His jaw tightened.
“I asked who they are.”
Ethan stepped closer to me.
“Mom?”
Adrian looked at him.
The boy had Adrian’s exact eyes.
There was no denying it.
Vanessa stared at the four boys.
Then at Adrian.
“Adrian…”
He didn’t answer.
His mother appeared behind him.
She looked at the boys.
Then she covered her mouth.
“Oh my God.”
I watched the realization spread across the faces of everyone standing in that doorway.
Eight years ago, Adrian had called my pregnancy a lie.
Now the truth was standing in front of him.
Four times.
Page 4
Adrian stepped outside.
“Can we talk?”
I nodded.
The boys stayed with his mother.
We walked several feet away from the house.
He turned toward me.
“Are they mine?”
I almost laughed.
“That’s your first question?”
His face tightened.
“I need to know.”
“You already know.”
“I need to hear you say it.”
I looked at him.
“They’re your sons.”
He closed his eyes.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then:
“Four?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t want to know.”
“That isn’t fair.”
I stared at him.
“You told me I was lying.”
“I was confused.”
“You called me a liar.”
“I was afraid.”
“You left.”
He looked away.
“I thought you had cheated on me.”
“I didn’t.”
“I know that now.”
I felt something inside me crack.
“Now?”
He looked at me.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Your medical records.”
I frowned.
He continued.
“After the divorce, I requested a copy of the records from the clinic.”
“Eight years ago?”
“No.”
He swallowed.
“Three weeks ago.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
“Because Vanessa and I were discussing having children.”
That sentence hurt more than I expected.
He continued.
“She asked me to have a fertility evaluation.”
I said nothing.
“The doctor asked about my previous medical history.”
He looked at the house.
“That’s when I found out something.”
“What?”
“My fertility numbers were extremely low.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
He looked back at me.
“The doctor said there was almost no chance I could naturally father children.”
I stared.
“But you did.”
He nodded.
“Apparently.”
“And that still doesn’t explain why you suddenly believe me.”
He reached into his coat.
Then handed me a folded document.
I opened it.
A DNA test.
Four names.
Four matches.
99.99% probability of biological fatherhood.
I looked up.
“You tested them?”
“No.”
“Then what is this?”
“My own test.”
He had compared his DNA with the medical samples kept from the pregnancy.
The result was undeniable.
Adrian was their father.
I folded the paper.
“You wanted proof.”
“Yes.”
“And now you have it.”
His eyes filled with something I hadn’t expected.
Regret.
“I lost eight years.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
He looked confused.
“You lost eight years.”
I looked toward the house.
“I lost them with you.”
Then I walked away.
