Chapter 2: The Woman From His Past
Nobody spoke after Claire’s voice came through the phone.
It was strange how one sentence could change the entire atmosphere of a room.
A moment before, we were a family getting ready for prom.
Now we were strangers standing around a secret.
Ethan held the phone tightly.
“Mom?””
The woman on the other end didn’t answer.
“Mom, say something.””
Finally, Claire spoke.
Her voice was different now.
Not confused.
Afraid.
“Where are you?””
Ethan looked at us.
“At my girlfriend’s house.””
Another silence.
Then:
“Put Daniel on the phone.””
My father looked like he had aged ten years.
He slowly took the phone.
“Claire.””
The sound of her name leaving his mouth felt wrong.
Too familiar.
Too painful.
“Daniel,” she whispered.
“I never thought I would hear your voice again.””
Mom turned away.
I noticed.
She was hurt.
Not because Dad had known Claire.
Because he had known something about Claire and never told her.
Dad sat down.
“Is Ethan my son?””
No one moved.
Not even Ethan.
On the phone, Claire breathed shakily.
“I wanted to tell you.””
Dad looked down.
“When?””
“Years ago.””
“Then why didn’t you?””
“Because you had a family.””
The words hit harder than I expected.
My family.
The word suddenly felt fragile.
Dad looked at me.
His daughter.
The person who had spent eighteen years believing she knew everything about him.
“I deserved to know,” he said.
Claire’s voice became emotional.
“You deserved to know? Daniel, you disappeared.””
Dad stood.
“I didn’t know you were pregnant.””
“You didn’t ask.””
That sentence destroyed the room.
Because it sounded true.
I looked at my father.
For the first time, I wondered who he was before he became my dad.
Before Sunday breakfasts.
Before helping me learn to ride a bike.
Before cheering at my soccer games.
There was a whole person I had never met.
A younger Daniel.
A man who had made mistakes.
A man who had apparently left someone behind.
Ethan stepped away.
“I need answers.””
Dad nodded.
“You deserve them.””
“No,” Ethan said.
“I need the truth.””
Nobody argued.
Because he was right.
The person whose life had just been turned upside down was standing right beside me.
My boyfriend.
My possible brother.
The thought made me sick.
I covered my mouth.
Ethan noticed.
His expression softened for a second.
“I’m sorry.””
I shook my head.
“You didn’t do anything.””
But everything had changed.
The prom tickets on the counter suddenly looked ridiculous.
The flowers.
The pictures.
The dress.
All of it belonged to a different version of my life.
Mom walked toward the phone.
“Claire, we need to talk in person.””
Claire was quiet.
Then she said:
“I can come tomorrow.””
Dad immediately replied.
“No.””
Everyone looked at him.
He swallowed.
“I mean… no waiting.””
His voice broke.
“If Ethan is my son, I need to know.””
Claire sighed.
“You always wanted answers when it was too late.””
Dad looked away.
That sentence hurt him.
I could tell.
But it also hurt because maybe he knew he deserved it.
Ethan ended the call.
For several seconds, none of us moved.
Then he looked at me.
“I should probably go.””
My chest tightened.
“Ethan…”
He shook his head.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.””
Neither did I.
Because five minutes ago, I was worried about whether he would like my dress.
Now I was wondering if our entire relationship had been built on something impossible.
He walked toward the door.
My father followed.
“Ethan.””
Ethan stopped.
Dad hesitated.
Then said:
“I’m sorry.””
Ethan stared at him.
“For what?””
Dad opened his mouth.
But no words came.
Because there were too many things.
Ethan left.
I watched his car disappear down the street.
The prom music from my phone was still playing quietly in the background.
A song about forever.
I almost laughed.
That night, I didn’t go to prom.
Instead, I sat at the kitchen table while my father finally opened the locked drawer in his office.
Inside were old photographs.
Letters.
A life he had hidden away.
He placed one picture in front of me.
A young woman stood beside him.
Claire.
But that wasn’t what shocked me.
It was the date written on the back.
Because it was taken only three months before my father married my mother.
May you like
And underneath the date, in my father’s handwriting, were five words:
*“The day I chose wrong.””*
