“He wants to play happy family. He said that you took away 16 years of knowing us,” Liam said. “And he said that he’s trying to get appointed to some state education board. He thinks that if you agree to pretend to be his wife, we’ll all win something from this. There’s a banquet that he wants us to attend.”
I couldn’t speak. I just sat there, the weight of 16 years pressing against my chest. It was like being punched in the chest… not just for the absurdity but the sheer cruelty of it.
I looked at my sons — their eyes so guarded, their shoulders heavy with fear and betrayal. I took a deep breath, held it, and then let it go.
“Boys,” I said. “Look at me.”
They both did. Hesitant and hopeful.
“I would burn the entire education board to the ground before I let that man own us. Do you really think I’d have kept your father away from you on purpose? Babies, he left us. I didn’t leave him. He chose this, not me.”
Liam blinked slowly. Something flickered behind his eyes — a flicker of the boy who used to curl beside me with scraped knees and a racing heart.
“Mommy,” he whispered. “Then what do we do?”
“We’ll agree to his terms, boys. And then we’ll expose him when the pretense matters the most.”
The morning of the banquet, I picked up an extra shift at the diner. I needed to keep moving. If I sat too long, I’d spiral.
The boys were sitting in the corner booth, homework spread out between them — Noah with his earbuds in, Liam scribbling across his notebook like he was racing someone. I topped off their orange juices and gave them both a tight smile.
“You don’t have to stay here, you know,” I said gently.
“We want to, Mom,” Noah replied, tugging out one earbud. “We said we’d meet him here anyway, remember?”
I did remember. I just didn’t want to.
A few minutes later, the bell above the door jingled. Evan walked in like he owned the place, in a designer coat, polished shoes, and a smile that made my stomach turn.
He slid into the booth across from the boys like he belonged there. I stayed behind the counter for a moment, watching. Liam’s body stiffened, and Noah wouldn’t look at him.
I walked over with a pot of coffee, holding it like a shield.
“I didn’t order that rubbish, Rachel,” Evan said, not even glancing at me.
“You didn’t have to,” I replied. “You’re not here for coffee. You’re here to make a deal with me and my sons.”
“You always did have a sharp… tongue, Rachel,” he said, chuckling as he reached for a sugar packet.
I ignored the jab.
“We’ll do it. The banquet. The photo ops. Whatever. But make no mistake, Evan. I’m doing this for my sons. Not you.”
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