Chapter 3

The faint smell of disinfectant filled James' office, and it felt as cold and sterile as he was.

He looked at me and repeated himself.

James asked, "Ethan. He's my son?"

I leaned against the cold door and looked at this man who felt both familiar and strange, and my heart felt empty.

"Yes," I admitted.

Denying it now wouldn't change anything.

Ethan's face was all the proof he needed.

When he got his answer, James' body swayed. He gripped the desk behind him to steady himself. His eyes showed a mix of emotions, and I could see joy, pain, and burning rage all at once.

He moved closer, and his tall frame towered over me. James demanded, "Why didn't you tell me? Why did you lie and say he died?"

He backed me against the door, and I had nowhere to go.

I lifted my head and met his angry eyes.

"Tell you?" I asked, and the question felt absurd. "James, you think you deserve to know?

"Four years ago, you disappeared without a word and left me with divorce papers like you were dead. Did you ever think about me? Did you think about the baby I was carrying? Now you come back and you think you can question me?"

Four years of pain and anger exploded inside me.

My voice shook, and tears filled my eyes, but I forced them back. I wouldn't cry in front of him. Never.

James' face went white. He opened his mouth like he wanted to explain, but nothing came out. Finally, he closed his eyes.

His voice came out rough. "I'm sorry. What I did back then was wrong."

Did he think a simple apology could erase four years of pain?

I sneered, "You're too kind, Dr. Cooper. You don't owe me anything. We're divorced, remember? My son's name is Ethan Davis. He has nothing to do with you, James Cooper."

I finished speaking and turned to leave.

He grabbed my wrist again. "Emily." His voice was pleading. "Let's talk."

I yanked my hand free. "We have nothing to talk about. All I want is for my son to get better so I can leave this place and get as far away from you as possible."

James' voice dropped. "I'll take care of your son's treatment. The best medications, the best nurses. But you have to give me a chance to explain."

His tone left no room for argument.

I looked at him and suddenly wanted to laugh. This was his leverage? Was he using Ethan's illness to force me into compliance?

"Sure," I said. I reached into my bag, pulled something out, and slapped it onto his desk.

It was an old notebook with worn, curled edges.

James' heart sank the moment he saw it. He recognized it immediately.

This was the ledger I'd kept when we first got married, the one where I'd tracked every single expense from our life together.

"You want to talk?" I flipped it open to a specific page and pushed it toward him. "Then let's start with the numbers."

I tapped the page with my finger. "This is every expense for Ethan from birth until now. Formula, diapers, clothes, toys, preschool, and every medical bill from the past four years. The total comes to 126,217 dollars."

I pointed at the number circled in red ink at the bottom. "James, as his biological father, shouldn't you cover half? That's 63,108 dollars. I'll round it down and call it 60 thousand dollars. Cash or transfer?"

I lifted my eyes and met his gaze calmly.

James stared at the notebook.

The pages were covered in my handwriting, documenting every detail of a child's growth and four years of a single mother's struggle.

His hands trembled, and his lips shook. He looked at me, and his bloodshot eyes were even more pronounced than they'd been last night.

"Emily, does it have to be like this?" he asked. His voice was rough. "Do we really need to settle things this way between us?"

I watched him suffer, but satisfaction never came. Only emptiness filled my chest.

"What else?" I asked. "If we don't settle this, you think we can just talk about feelings again?"

I kept my voice steady. "James, you abandoned me four years ago. All we have left between us now is a debt."

Before I could say anything else, someone pushed the office door open.

A woman walked in, dressed in designer clothes with flawless makeup.

She saw how close James and I were standing and froze for a second, reading the tension in the air.

Then she smiled politely and walked over to James, looping her arm through his.

"James, I brought you breakfast," she said.

Her eyes landed on me, cold and assessing. "And who's this?"

James went stiff. He tried to pull his arm away, but she held on tighter.

I watched them stand there together and noticed the insulated bag in her hand. Then my eyes caught the necklace around her neck, and my breath stopped.

I'd given him that necklace for his birthday years ago. Now another woman was wearing it.

Pain twisted in my chest.

So that was how it was.

Was this why he disappeared for four years?

Everything suddenly clicked into place.

I watched the panic flash across James' face and forced a smile that probably looked worse than crying.

"Sorry to interrupt," I muttered. Without looking at them again, I turned and pulled the door open.

Just as I stepped into the hallway, a sugary voice called out behind me. "James, you haven't told me who that was."

I stopped but didn't turn around.

James stayed quiet for a moment, then spoke in a tired voice I'd never heard before. "Nobody. Just a patient's relative."