PART 2 — The Night Everything Fell Apart
Declan sat across from me, his hands clasped tightly between his knees.
For the first time since I had known him, he looked completely lost.
Not angry.
Not arrogant.
Lost.
James slept against my chest, unaware that the man sitting only a few feet away was his father.
I lowered myself carefully onto the opposite sofa.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
The Christmas lights reflected softly against the windows, and somewhere outside, a car passed slowly through the snow-covered street.
Finally, Declan whispered, “Start from the beginning.”
I looked at him.
“The beginning?”
“The pregnancy. The divorce. Everything.”
His voice cracked slightly.
“I deserve to know.”
I almost laughed.
“You deserved to know five months ago.”
He flinched.
“I know.”
“No,” I said quietly. “You don't.”
His eyes lifted to mine.
“You don't know what it was like to sit in a doctor's office alone and hear that my baby was already eight weeks old.”
Declan's expression changed.
“You were already pregnant when we separated?”
“Yes.”
He stared at me.
“I found out three days after you filed for divorce.”
His jaw tightened.
“I didn't know.”
“You weren't supposed to.”
“That isn't fair.”
I looked down at James.
“Neither was what happened to me.”
Declan leaned forward.
“Why didn't you call me?”
I gave him a tired smile.
“Because the night before you filed, you told me something I'll never forget.”
His brows pulled together.
“What did I say?”
“You said that if we ever had children, you would make sure they were raised according to your rules.”
He shook his head.
“That was an argument.”
“To you, maybe.”
I remembered that night vividly.
We had stood in the kitchen of our penthouse while rain battered the windows.
I had been crying.
He had been furious.
His company was struggling with a massive acquisition, and every conversation between us had become another battle.
I had told him I thought he cared more about his company than he cared about me.
He had responded by saying perhaps marriage was no longer practical.
Then came the sentence that destroyed whatever hope I had left.
“If we divorce, don't expect me to let you decide everything about my child.”
I had stood there in silence.
He didn't even know I was pregnant.
But I did.
And suddenly, I was terrified.
“I thought you would take him from me,” I whispered.
Declan's face went pale.
“I would never—”
“You had lawyers ready before I even understood that our marriage was over.”
“I was protecting my assets.”
“You were preparing for war.”
He looked away.
I continued.
“When I found out I was pregnant, I didn't know what to do. I was scared. I had no family nearby. Your lawyers had already contacted me. And every person around you kept telling me that you would never allow me to raise your child without your involvement.”
Declan swallowed.
“Who told you that?”
I hesitated.
“That doesn't matter.”
“It matters to me.”
“Not tonight.”
He looked at James.
“What happened after you found out?”
“I left.”
“You left Seattle?”
“I went to Portland first. Then I moved back.”
“Why?”
“Because I realized I couldn't spend my pregnancy running from you.”
His eyes softened.
“You could have told me.”
“I wanted to.”
“Then why didn't you?”
I stared at him.
“Because someone made sure I believed you didn't want the baby.”
Silence.
Declan slowly stood.
“Who?”
Before I could answer, James began stirring.
I immediately focused on him.
“It's okay, sweetheart.”
His tiny face scrunched.
Declan watched me soothe him.
Something in his expression broke.
“Can I…”
He stopped.
“Can I hold him?”
My heart tightened.
Five months ago, I would have said no.
Tonight, I wasn't sure.
I looked at James.
Then at Declan.
“Wash your hands.”
Declan blinked.
“What?”
“Before you touch him.”
For the first time that evening, something almost resembling a smile appeared on his face.
“Okay.”
He went to the kitchen and washed his hands carefully.
When he returned, he stood beside me.
I adjusted James in my arms.
Declan reached out.
His fingers trembled.
I placed our son into his arms.
The moment James settled against his chest, Declan stopped breathing.
He stared down at him.
“Hi,” he whispered.
His voice was barely audible.
“I'm your dad.”
James opened his eyes.
Declan's eyes filled instantly.
He looked at me.
“He's so small.”
“I know.”
“I missed everything.”
I didn't answer.
“You felt him move?”
“Yes.”
“You heard his heartbeat?”
“Yes.”
“You saw the ultrasound?”
“Yes.”
His face crumpled.
“I wasn't there.”
“No.”
He looked back at James.
“I'm sorry.”
I wasn't sure whether he was apologizing to me or our son.
Maybe both.
Then his phone rang.
Declan glanced at the screen.
His expression changed immediately.
He handed James back to me and stepped toward the window.
“Hello?”
I watched his shoulders stiffen.
“What do you mean?”
A pause.
“No. Don't move anything.”
Another pause.
“Who authorized that?”
His voice became cold.
“Send me the files now.”
He hung up.
I frowned.
“What happened?”
He looked at me.
“Someone accessed my private legal records tonight.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
“My divorce files.”
He stared at me.
“Someone has been trying to remove something from the case.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
Declan's face became grim.
“I don't know yet.”
He walked toward the door.
“Declan?”
He stopped.
“Where are you going?”
He turned around.
“To find out who knew about your pregnancy before I did.”
Then he looked at James.
“And why they wanted me to believe my son didn't exist.”
My blood ran cold.
Because suddenly, I remembered something I had spent five months trying to forget.
A phone call.
One week after I discovered I was pregnant.
A woman had called me.
She had known my name.
She had known exactly how far along I was.
And she had said only one thing before hanging up:
“If you love your baby, stay away from Declan Rowan.”
