The engine hummed softly as Marcel drove through the quiet streets leading back into the city.
Rain tapped lightly against the windshield, a rhythmic sound that only seemed to highlight the chaos in his mind.
He hadn't said a word since leaving the cafe. He couldn't. Every memory, every piece of the life he thought he had lived with Ryan, was unravelling before him.
He gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles turning white, his jaw clenched. Sarah's voice haunted him. "Ryan wasn't your son." How?
The words circled in his head like a cruel chant. He remembered the day Ryan was born—how he held that baby, how he cried like a fool, because he didn't have a clue what he was getting into.
He remembered the scraped knees he bandaged, the fights he broke up, the awards he clapped for. He remembered the first time Ryan called him "Dad."
And now? It had all been a lie. A damn, selfish lie. How could she?
