“I would stand up to anyone before I let that man define who we are,” I told them. “If I could have given you a good father, I would have in a heartbeat. But he made his choice when he walked away. I did not keep you from him. He left us.”
Liam swallowed hard. That little boy with scraped knees and big feelings was still in there somewhere.
“Then what do we do, Mom?” he asked.
I took a deep breath.
“We agree to what he wants,” I said. “And then we tell the truth when it matters most.”
The day of the banquet, I picked up an extra shift at the diner. I needed to keep moving. If I sat too long, my mind would spin itself into knots.
The boys sat together in a corner booth, textbooks spread between them. Noah had one earbud in. Liam scribbled notes like he was racing a clock. I topped off their orange juice and managed a small smile.
“You do not have to stay here all afternoon,” I told them.
“We want to,” Noah said, pulling out his earbud. “He is meeting us here anyway, remember?”
I remembered. I just hated it.
The bell over the door chimed a little while later. Evan walked in as if the place were his stage. Designer coat. Polished shoes. Confident stride.
He slid into the booth opposite the boys without asking, like he had always belonged there. From behind the counter, I watched their shoulders tense.
I walked over with a pot of coffee, holding it like a shield.
“I did not order that, Rachel,” he said, not bothering to look at me.
“You are not here for coffee,” I answered, keeping my voice steady. “You are here to make a deal with your sons and with me.”
He gave a low laugh.
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