“You left,” I said to Heath. “You walked away before she was even born.”
His jaw tightened.
“I didn’t know she existed.”
“I was young and stupid,” he said, frustration creeping into his voice. “I thought shutting you out and moving on was what was best for us. You remember how much we fought during those last few months?”
I stared at him.
“So, you ghosted me instead of talking to me?”
“By the time I came to my senses, you’d changed your number and moved out,” he insisted. “Your father told me you didn’t want to see me again.”
My stomach twisted.
“My father?” I asked.
He nodded. “I went to see you, but your father told me that if I cared about you, I would let you go.
He never mentioned you being pregnant.”
The memory came rushing back. My father had been furious when he found out I was pregnant. He’d called Heath irresponsible and said, “He’ll ruin your life.”
“You’re saying my father interfered?” I asked slowly.
“I’m saying I was 26, selfish, and scared,” Heath replied.
“And I believed him when he said you wanted nothing to do with me.”
I shook my head, trying to piece together a version of the past that made sense.
“You never tried again?” I pressed.
“No,” he said. “But when I saw Wren here at school, she reminded me of you. But you were already with Callum.
It sounded like you were happy. I didn’t want to interfere. I had no right to.”
The truth hurt in a different way than anger had.
Wren’s voice cut through us.
“So you didn’t leave because you didn’t care? And you didn’t know about me?”
“No,” he said again. “If I had, I would’ve fought for you.”
I closed the notebook.
Callum had known.
He’d carried that knowledge quietly and had chosen not to expose it.
He’d trusted me to decide.
“Why now?” I asked Heath. “Why try to be close to her?”
His answer came without hesitation. “Because she’s my daughter.
And she needs me.”
“She’s my daughter too,” I said sharply.
“And Callum’s,” he agreed immediately. “I’m not here to erase him.”
That was the first thing he said that didn’t feel defensive.
Wren stepped closer to both of us.
“I’m not broken,” she said softly. “But I don’t want to feel like half of me is a secret.”
That broke me.
I’d spent years protecting her from pain.
But in doing that, I’d hidden part of her story.
I crouched down, so I was at eye level with her.
“Callum is your real father,” I said firmly. “He raised and chose you. That will never change.”
She nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks.
“I know.”
I looked up at Heath. “If this happens, it happens slowly.”
“Of course,” he said.
“Boundaries,” I continued. “You don’t get to show up and act like you’ve been here the whole time.”
“I wouldn’t,” he said.
“Supervised visits at first,” I added.
“And we tell her together. No more secrets.”
He nodded.
“I’m not doing this for you,” I said.
“I’m doing this because Callum asked me to. And because she deserves honesty.”
“I understand,” he replied.
Wren reached for both of our hands. It felt strange, but not wrong.
“I just want everyone to stop hiding,” she whispered.
I looked at her, really looked at her.
She wasn’t the little girl who shut herself in her room anymore. She’d chosen to force the truth into the light.
That night, back home, she sat with Callum’s guitar in her lap.
“Dad would still be proud of me, right?” she asked quietly.
“Yes,” I said, my voice steady. “He would.”
“Yes,” I said again.
“Always.”
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