Simone shook her head, overwhelmed.
Darius stepped between us.
“Not here.”
“Stop telling me where I’m allowed to hear the truth.”
“Maya, please.”
“You announced to one hundred and forty-seven strangers that my son deserves to know who his mother really is.
You don’t get privacy now.
”
Caleb started crying.
That ended the argument.
Darius looked at our son.
Something inside him collapsed.
He crouched several feet away.
“Buddy.”
“Is Mom my mom?”
“Yes.”
I stared at him.
Darius swallowed.
“Yes,” he repeated.
“Maya is your mother.”
“Then why did you say that?”
Darius couldn’t answer.
Simone began crying harder.
And then a child’s voice came from the jet bridge.
“Mom?”
Everyone froze.
A little girl stepped onto the plane.
She looked about Caleb’s age.
Seven.
Maybe eight.
She had thick dark hair tied in a ponytail.
A purple backpack.
Freckles across her nose.
And eyes—
