Page 78 of When Love And Destiny Collide

I reach the third floor and walk down the long hallway, the sound of voices growing clearer as I approach Dad's room. The door is slightly ajar, and I can make out two voices—one isunmistakably my father's, while the other belongs to a woman. A woman with a distinct British accent. Marian.

My heart starts pounding. The tone in their voices is not cordial, not friendly. It’s definitely an argument. I press myself against the wall, straining to catch every word without being noticed. I feel like a voyeur, intruding on something deeply private. What am I doing? I feel guilty. I should walk away, but I'm frozen, unable to pull myself away.

"I'm not going to ask you again," Dad says, his voice low and demanding.

"Let go of me!" Marian counters, her tone sharp and defiant.

"Not until you answer my question," he replies, his voice clipped. I can almost picture him grinding his teeth in frustration.

"You're hurting me, Mateo."

"I. Don't. Care," he snaps, the tension in his words palpable.

What the hell is going on in there? My mind races. Should I walk in and demand an explanation? Or maybe I should leave? But I do neither. I stay put, heart racing, praying I don’t get caught. Marian could burst through the door at any moment and catch me eavesdropping. That would be a disaster. I try to breathe deeply, willing my heart to calm its erratic thumping in my chest.

"I did the math, Marian." Dad's voice is laced with accusation. The math? What is he talking about? I try to focus making out every word.

"When I met Noah," he says, "and he told me he was Shay David, I thought back to six years ago when I met a gorgeous English woman in Mérida. Do you remember? I mean how many Shay Davids could there be?"

As silence hangs heavily between them, it dawns on me that they know each other.

"Do you remember?!" Dad's voice rises. "You told me your husband's name was Shay David."

How long before Marian storms out of there? God, help me. Please don’t let them find me here. Why would God help me? I haven’t talked to Him in years, and what would He protect—a snoop, a meddler like me?

Wait... What did he just say? Shay David... Mérida... My mind races to connect all the pieces. Oh, God, no! This can’t be happening. No, notthis. While Noah was at the writer’s conference, his wife had an affair—with my father.

"Look, Mateo." Marian’s voice is calm, too calm, and it throws me off. "Noah was busy, and I was bored. You were just… there. Tall, dark, and gorgeous. Right place, right time. That’s all it was. We had fun, but it was a fling. Nothing more."

"You’re right," Dad says, his voice hardening. "It was just a fling. But you still haven’t answered my question. Is Davey my son?"

Dad's words echo in my ears, sounding distant, as if they're coming from the far end of a long, dark tunnel, muffled by the sound of my breath catching. I swallow hard against the bile rising in my throat and press my hand over my mouth to stifle what might be a yelp, a scream, or maybe vomit. I don't know.

I struggle to keep my breathing steady, pressing my hand tighter over my mouth. If I make a sound, even the slightest gasp, they'll know I'm here. My heart hammers in my chest. A tear rolls down my face, and I’m jolted by the realization that I'm crying, completely overcome by the sheer terror of the moment. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to regain control, but the warm trickle of despair reminds me that this isn’t a nightmare; I'm wide awake.

"Is he my son?" Dad asks again, his voice insistent and heavy. The walls seem to close in on me as the weight of this revelation sinks in, suffocating me. I take a step away from the door because I don't know if I can bear to hear the answer. My legs tremble, threatening to give out beneath me, but I manage to stumble away. Desperate to escape, I find the nearest stairwell and push the door open. Once inside, I slump down to the floor and weep, the tears flowing freely now, the sound of my cries echoing in the empty space.

I'm oblivious to the time as the minutes tick by, lost in my thoughts. Then it hits me—Noah’s waiting for me at home. I pull my phone from my back pocket and check the time. Almost halfan hour has passed. I wait until the hiccups subside, and then I walk back to Dad’s room, wondering how I'm going to deal with this new reality. The door is now shut, so I knock softly and wait.

“Mija,” Dad greets me with a smile, but it quickly fades when he spots the unmistakable traces of my hour-long cry. His brow furrows with concern. “What’s wrong?”

"I left my purse here," I mutter, brushing past him.

His voice softens, “Why are you crying?”

That simple question breaks through the wall I’ve been holding up, and before I can stop myself, my words come tumbling out.

"I heard you arguing with Marian, Dad," I say, locking eyes with him. "I heard everything."

“Mija,” he starts, his voice faltering. “It’s not what you think.”

“Please, don’t lie to me,” I say, raising my hand to stop him. “You had an affair with her.”

“I didn’t know she was married, Cariño,” he pleads, trying to defend himself.

“Don’tCariñome, Dad," I snap, my voice breaking.

“Let me explain,” he says, raising both hands, palms out like he’s trying to ward off an attack.

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