Rain slashed across the café window as I stared at the boy coloring quietly in the corner—dark curls, sharp chin, and that same stubborn set to his jaw. My jaw. Seven years gone, and there she was, serving coffee like nothing had changed. Like she hadn’t vanished the day I finally made it.\n\n"He’s adorable," I said, voice colder than I intended. "Your husband must be proud."\n\nShe froze. "We’re not married. He’s… my partner’s son."\n\nA lie. Or maybe not. But the way she wouldn’t look at me—the tremor in her hands—told me this was more than awkward history. This was fear.\n\nThen the boy looked up, smiled with my smile, and whispered, "Hi, Daddy."\n\nMy breath stopped.\n\nShe paled. "He doesn’t know what he’s saying."\n\nBut I did. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.\n\nNow I had to decide: walk away and pretend I hadn’t felt my world crack open, or demand the truth—even if it destroyed us both.