Hearing that name, my heart suddenly felt hollow. Memories of my past life, of what happened after my death, came rushing back.
Back then, David had agreed to let the baby take my last name. At least on the surface. But not long after I died, he dumped Parry in an orphanage.
Someone had tried to reason with him. “Come on, David, he’s still your son. Do you really have to be this heartless?
He’ll be treated like a real orphan. Kids like that get bullied. He’ll have a miserable life!”
David just scoffed, his voice ice-cold. “A kid with someone else’s last name isn’t my son. He’s just a bastard.”
Then he turned, wrapping his arm tenderly around Elinor. Resting his ear against her swollen belly, he smiled, full of affection.
“My son will only come from Ellie.”
I had seen it all, in my soul form, unseen yet boiling with rage. I wished I could tear him apart right then.
That was when I finally understood: whether Parry carried David's last name or mine, he was always destined to be discarded.
Because the woman David truly loved—the one he had been hiding all along—wasn’t me. It was his so-called “distant cousin.” His first love.