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.
Page 5
Christmas dinner was uncomfortable.
No one knew where to look.
The four boys were too young to understand why every adult seemed nervous.
They were busy fighting over who got the biggest piece of roast potatoes.
Samuel asked Adrian:
“Do you have a dog?”
Adrian blinked.
“No.”
“You should get one.”
Daniel laughed.
“You don’t tell grown-ups what to do.”
Samuel shrugged.
“He asked.”
For the first time that evening, Adrian smiled.
A real smile.
And I saw it.
The boys saw it too.
Something changed.
Adrian kept looking at them.
Not staring anymore.
Studying.
Learning.
Ethan noticed.
“Why do you keep looking at us?”
The table went silent.
Adrian put down his fork.
“Because you remind me of someone.”
“Who?”
Adrian looked at me.
Then back at Ethan.
“Me.”
The boys laughed.
“No way.”
“Yeah,” Daniel said. “Mom says we’re all different.”
Adrian smiled sadly.
“You are.”
Then Samuel asked:
“Are you our dad?”
The room became completely silent.
I closed my eyes.
This was the moment I had feared.
Adrian looked at me.
I nodded.
He turned toward Samuel.
“Yes.”
Samuel stared at him.
Then looked at his brothers.
“So you’re Dad?”
Adrian swallowed.
“Yes.”
No one spoke.
Then Noah asked:
“Why didn’t you come before?”
Adrian couldn’t answer.
That question came from an eight-year-old.
But it carried eight years of silence.
Finally, Adrian said:
“Because I made a terrible mistake.”
Noah frowned.
“What kind?”
Adrian looked at me.
“The kind that can hurt people for a very long time.”
Ethan studied him.
“Are you sorry?”
Adrian nodded.
“Every day.”
Ethan thought about it.
Then he picked up a potato.
“Okay.”
Adrian looked surprised.
“Okay?”
“You said you’re sorry.”
“That doesn’t fix it.”
“I know.”
The boy shrugged.
“But it’s Christmas.”
I almost cried.
