Page 86 of When Love And Destiny Collide

"I know I keep saying this," he begins, "but I had no idea she was married. As soon as I found out, I ended things for good."

My mind struggles to process this new revelation. Where was Noah? Where was Davey when all this was happening?

"How long was she in Mérida with you?" I ask, fighting back tears that threaten to spill over.

"I'm not sure," he says, his voice rushed.

"How long, Dad?" I press, my tone clipped, teetering on the edge of hysteria.

"Three weeks, maybe four," he replies, worry flooding his eyes.

"A month?!" I exclaim, the word bursting from me like a dam breaking.

"Calm down, Mija," he says soothingly. "You're going to make yourself sick."

"You're making me sick, Dad!" I shriek, my voice trembling with anger and hurt. "You're making me sick."

"Lily, please," he begs, concern etched deeply on his face.

As the tears begin to flow, I quickly swipe them away, desperate to regain control. I grab my purse and bolt from the restaurant. I climb into the car and let the sobs escape—a long, frustrated cry that feels like it might tear me apart. My mind races, and I suddenly realize that this clandestine meet-up between my father and Marian happened when Noah was in Florida, taking care of his sick mother.

Noah's words echo in my ears: "After Mom died, I went home and found my wife was two months pregnant—with another man's baby."

That other man was my father. A wave of nausea surges in my throat, threatening to choke me. I pull out of the parking lot, leaving my father behind. I don’t care. He can walk home.

I don’t know how much more of this I can endure. The thought of having to tell Noah yet another horrible truth involving myfather feels unbearable. I’m sick to my stomach, and my heart aches with a deep wave of shame.

***

Walking into the kitchen back at the house, I’m greeted by the rich aroma of beef cooking in the crock pot. Also on the counter is a bouquet of flowers, freshly picked from the garden and tied together with a delicate ribbon. The vibrant colors stand out against my overwhelming sadness. Next to the flowers is a neatly folded note with my name written in elegant cursive.

Sweetheart, I have an appointment with Bethany Adams to discuss Davey's custody. I put a roast in the crock pot for sandwiches. I should be back by one. See you then. I love you, NoahPS: You are my destiny, my heart's desire. I can't wait to make you my bride.

I don’t even realize I’m crying until the warm drops of tears mix with the ink on the paper, smudging some of the words.

I pick up the flowers and bring them to my face, inhaling deeply, but my nose is so stuffed from crying that I realize I can't even draw a breath through it. The sweet scent of blossoms is lost to me, much like the warmth of the moment feels overshadowed by my dark mood.

I fill a vase with water, adding a splash of vinegar to help preserve the blooms. Then, I carefully separate the flowers, slipping them into the vase one by one, whispering, “He lovesme, he loves me not,” with each delicate stem. As I place the last flower in, the final whisper hangs in the air, uncertain: “He loves me.” I can’t help but wonder if that love will endure when I deliver the next unexpected blow.

***

First, I hear the tires crunching on the gravel, then the soft click of the key turning in the lock. The moment he steps into the house, his presence envelops me, filling the air with a love that both comforts and shatters my heart. I know what I’m about to tell him will break his heart just as surely as it has broken mine.

"What's wrong?" he asks as soon as our eyes meet.

All I can do is look away, avoiding his gaze, and slowly shake my head.

He steps closer, wrapping his arms around me, offering warmth and safety. "I take it your talk with your dad didn’t go too well."

I love him so much that the thought of remaining silent is tempting. I’d rather sink into the deepest ocean than face the truth I have to share—one that feels so devastating it could tear us apart.

I don’t want to do this; the words sit heavy in my throat, begging for release but feeling too painful to utter.

When I look up at him, he smiles—the smile that captivates my every thought. The smile that melts my heart and makes it soar to the heavens. The very smile I’m about to extinguish with a cruel reality.

"Can we sit?" I ask, my voice trembling as I realize my legs might give way at any moment. He takes my hand, his grip reassuring, and guides me to the sofa.

As soon as we sit, he takes my hands, cocooning them in his. "Your hands are cold, Sweetheart," he murmurs, lifting them to his lips and pressing a soft kiss on my knuckles.

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