At the table, Nathan asked quietly, “What’s your mom’s name?”
Owen hesitated. “Rachel. Rachel Hayes.”
The name hit like a physical blow.
Eight years ago. Standing in his office doorway. Holding papers too tightly. Saying she needed to explain something. Him glancing at his watch. Telling her to schedule through HR.
Walking past her.
“How old are you?” Nathan asked carefully.
“Seven. Almost eight.”
The math settled heavily.
“Daddy,” Sophie said softly, “you know his mom, don’t you?”
Nathan exhaled. “I think… I might.”
He looked at Owen. “We should talk to her. Together.”
Owen nodded once. “She won’t yell.”
“I won’t give her a reason to,” Nathan replied, though he wasn’t sure.
The building was older than he remembered. Sophie held Owen’s hand while Nathan rang the bell.
Rachel opened the door slightly. Her eyes went straight to Owen.
“Where were you?”
“I was safe.”
Then she looked up and froze.
“No,” she whispered.
“Can we come in?” Nathan asked.
Inside was small but neat. Owen went straight to the couch. Sophie sat beside him.
“You left,” Rachel said quietly.
“I did.”
“I tried to tell you. About the baby. I lost my insurance. I couldn’t get past your assistant.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t want to.”