Then he whispered, “I don’t want another dad.”
I closed my eyes.
“You don’t have to decide anything today.”
“I just want you.”
That nearly broke me.
I held him tighter.
“You have me.”
And for the first time since Tyler’s announcement filled the airplane cabin, something inside me became clear.
I could lose my marriage.
I could lose the house.
I could discover that half my past was fabricated.
But I would not let Mason lose the certainty that he belonged somewhere.
He belonged with me.
Not because of paperwork.
Not because of biology.
Because I had been there.
Every fever.
Every nightmare.
Every first day of school.
Every scraped knee.
Every bedtime story.
I was his mother.
And whatever happened next, I would make sure he never had to wonder whether that was true.
—
Tyler called seventeen times.
I didn’t answer.
Then he started texting.
