Or the man I believed was Mason’s biological father.
His name was Daniel.
He had left halfway through my pregnancy.
At least that was the story I had lived with.
Daniel had signed paperwork relinquishing parental rights months later.
Tyler had adopted Mason shortly after our wedding.
That was our history.
That was the truth.
Wasn’t it?
I gripped the table.
“What are you saying?”
Tyler’s voice became almost inaudible.
“Your pregnancy records were altered.”
The room went silent again.
I stared at him.
Then I laughed.
I couldn’t help it.
It was one small, breathless sound.
Because sometimes reality becomes so impossible that your body chooses the wrong reaction.
“I was pregnant.”
“I know.”
“I felt him move.”
“I know.”
“I gave birth to him.”
“I know.”
“So don’t sit there and tell me hospital records were altered like that explains anything.”
“It doesn’t.”
