“Without Marcus.” Joel said it slowly, like he was testing the weight of it.
“So Marcus didn’t know whose—”
“Apparently not.
Not the full picture.”
Joel pulled out a chair and sat down.
He was quiet for a moment.
Then: “You need to talk to her.”
“I know.”
“Not tomorrow.
Tonight.”
“Joel—”
“You are eight months pregnant with a baby that may not be who either of you told you it was.” His voice was steady but there was something underneath it.
“You don’t have the luxury of waiting.”
He was right.
I knew he was right.
But I also knew Penelope, and I knew that walking in there tonight with a folder and an accusation would send her straight into denial.
She would cry.
She would deflect.
She would make me feel like the one causing damage.
“I need to talk to the lawyer first,” I said.
“Tomorrow morning.
