A tiny urn.
Dawson had stood beside Megan with his arms wrapped around her, looking like a man who’d forgotten how to breathe.
Ryan and I attended.
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I remembered Ryan holding Dawson’s shoulder while the minister spoke.
I remembered thinking how fortunate we were to have our two healthy children.Find Family Lawyer
And I remembered promising myself I would never complain about another sleepless night.
Now Dawson was staring at a photograph of a living little boy.
A little boy who looked remarkably like him.
“No,” I whispered.
Dawson wiped his face.
“Claire, Elliot would be four years and three months old.”
I looked down at the photograph.Edit Photos
The child’s age fit.
So did the hair.
The eyes.
The small dimple beside his chin.
Then Dawson whispered, “What if my son never died?”
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I couldn’t answer.
Because if he was right, what Ryan and Megan had done was no longer merely an affair.
It was something far worse.
My mother stirred in her hospital bed.Track Pregnancy
I’d almost forgotten she was there.
She opened her eyes, glanced at our faces, and immediately frowned.
“What’s happened?”
I hurried to her bedside.
“Nothing you need to worry about right now, Mom.”
She gave me the look she’d used when I was twelve and tried to hide a broken window.
“Claire Bennett, don’t insult my intelligence.”
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
