Page 38 of The Man I Love

A business trip? Is that what he told her?

Tristan stared blankly. “I’m not here to see my father,” he said after a pause. He wasn’t sure why he needed her to know that, but at that moment it felt very important.

Two years ago, Tristan wished for just one moment with the woman who had broken his family apart. He had so many questions. About her character, about why she would want a man who would leave his whole family behind—but now he had nothing. Guilt, pain, regret, and unexplained emotions replaced everything he’d felt back then.

Her hands dropped to her sides, her fingers finding the fabric of her sweatpants. “You look just like him, you know,” she said, her voice a mere whisper.

He turned on his heels, not wanting to hear one more comparison. “I know.” He’d heard them his whole life. His entire existence had been filled with never-ending parallels to his father.

“No!” she yelled. “No…” Her voice was shaking. “Don’t go.”

He froze, because the desperation in her voice sent a chill up his spine; he turned to face her again.

“I meant Liam. You look like Liam—my son.”

Time stood still at that moment. Two years looming like a ghost in the distance. So much hurt. So much timelost. He’d always comforted himself by saying that it was his father who was missing out. He and Renee were thriving. Happy. Successful. In loving relationships. But for the first time since his sister’s wedding, he realized it wasn’t just his father who had missed things; he had missed things too. His stubbornness had prevented him from knowing his own brother existed. A brother who could have been mistaken as his twin had they been born at the same time. His chest ached with the realization, rising and falling with deep soulful breaths as he tried to calm himself down.

“I feel like I just met the grownup version of my son,” she whispered.

Tristan looked down at his shoes. For so long, he’d blamed this woman for everything. Blamed her for his parents’ divorce, blamed her for his father’s absence in their lives. He’d needed a scapegoat, and she’d been an easy target. Now that they’d met, he could only see her for who she was, which seemed to rip open wounds he’d thought healed long ago. She was his father’s wife. A mother of a dying child. A mother who was so worried about her son that she didn’t sleep. She was human. She was real, and she wasn’t the demon his family had made her out to be all those years ago.

“He’s sleeping,” she finally whispered, breaking the silence again. “I’d like for you to meet him, if you’re willing?” Her words were shaky, soft, almost panicked. “Would you—would you like to meet your brother?”

A rush of emotion twisted in Tristan’s chest, and he stepped backward, as though needing to catch himself from falling. His brother. His baby brother was just a room away.

A moment ticked by, but soon his voice came rough, dry, and full of emotion. “I would like that very much.”

Until that moment, he didn’t realize how desperately he wanted to meet Liam.

She motioned for him to follow her, and his feet shuffled forward until he entered room 203. Nostalgia washed over his body as he took in the hospital room. Reminders of his old childhood bedroom were everywhere. Found in the arrangement of toy cars in the corner, portraits of Winnie the Pooh on each wall, and a small collection of stuffed animals at the end of Liam’s bed.

His little brother slept in the middle of the heap, the plastic pirate sword from the photo held in his left hand.

Liam's whole body was thinand frail, and his skin was duller than in the photo taken just two days earlier.

“I guess I should introduce myself,” his stepmom said then. “My name is Heather Montgom—” She wiped her palms against her sweatpants. “I guess you knew that part already.”

He actually didn’t. He’d always assumed his father would marry her, but he’d never checked.

He glanced around the room, partly stalling for time. The toys, the decor, the love that surrounded his brother were everywhere. Signs of his father were there, too—the footballs, the little racetrack carpet, so like the one Tristan and his father spent countless hours playing on when he was young.

In another universe, this space would be bright and cheerful—playful even. The paintings, the fuzzy pillows, the books that lay scattered on the floor…it was the bright lights and machines that grounded Tristan to the present, which made him painfully aware of where he was.

He’d expected to hate her. This woman he now knew was Heather Montgomery. But he didn’t. She’d fallen victim to his father’s charms—one of thousands. Could he really blame her for that?

With shaking hands, Tristan handed her the stuffed elephant he’d bought for his brother. It was soft, with big ears, and had a ribbon tied around his neck in bright Dodger blue. “I thought he may like this,” he said when she glanced up at him.

She gripped the elephant until her knuckles turned white. “Do you know why he wasn’t at the wedding?” Heather blurted out.

Tristan froze, his mind having a hard time keeping up with the shift in conversation.

“Liam was born that day,” she said, “three months early.”

Tristan closed his eyes, his jaw clenched painfully shut.

“I had pregnancy induced toxemia,” she continued. “My blood pressure was high, and the doctors had to induce my labor. I don’t remember a lot. I think I blocked it out, but it was the day of your sister’s wedding. Your father wanted to be there, but he needed to be here. With me. With Liam.”

Tristan wasn’t sure what to say, or even the reason she was telling him this now, but his eyes found his little brother, still sleeping in his bed, and he shook his head, replaying all the conversations he’d had with his father on the way to Renee’s wedding. There had been so many opportunities for his father to tell him what was going on. Why hadn’t he said anything?

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