I had believed him.
Mostly.
But not enough to stay.
So I left, smiling through the worst pain of my life because I was already carrying proof of what he had done.
Noah.
Not Daniel Harper’s son.
Not some unknown boy’s son.
My father’s.
My son let out a low, broken sound as the truth reached him.
I turned to him, shaking.
“Noah—”
He stumbled back.
“Don’t.”
His face was white with horror, but his eyes stayed locked on mine, searching for something that might still be true.
“Did you know? The whole time?”
