Page 19 of All for her Forgiveness

"I found out she had left Massachusetts," I say, without revealing that discovering she had a son is what brought me.

"Ah, of course. And your anger brought you to a young woman just out of a coma, a mother who hasn't seen her son in two years, to disturb her peace, demonstrating your discontent."

"It wasn't that. It was finding out she had a boy," I admit.

"And why does that matter to you?" He runs his hand over his bald head. "Kennedy needs peace. She doesn't sleep well for fear of someone coming in . . . ofyoucoming in and taking the child just to hurt her."

"And how would I do that? I have no right to King. I'm not the . . .” A bitter taste spreads inside my mouth. "Did Kennedy say who the father is?"

He gives me a scornful smile. "She has no memory of the past, Mr. Kostanidis. When will you convince yourself of that?"

"Perhaps never."

"Go away. Kennedy managed, through legal procedures, to be released on bail. If you're unhappy with the decision, go complain to the judge who granted her that right."

"I'm not going anywhere, not now and not anytime soon," I say because suddenly, pieces of a puzzle that seems to have emerged from a parallel reality begin to come together.

The shock I felt when I entered his room earlier today.

My almost instant connection with the boy and vice versa.

Ares' question if I was sure I wasn't the father of the child Kennedy gave birth to.

All of this could be a coincidence, but there's something, a detail, that is consolidating a certainty within me.

I fed King. While Kennedy slept, I went out to buy baby food and diapers.

I gave him lunch, then changed him, and...

"What are you saying? What do you mean, you're not going anywhere anytime soon? You don't have the right to bother Kennedy."

"With regards to her, I have no rights, but concerning my son, I do."

"What?" He seems truly shocked but not surprised. His reaction is that of someone afraid. Did Ernest already suspect this too?

And what about Kennedy?

"Do you believe in destiny, Mr. Wich?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I changed King's diaper and saw the mark. At the time, I didn't pay attention, perhaps because it didn't seem possible, but I'm sure now that this child is mine, although I don't understand how . . .” I don't finish the sentence. It's none of his damn business.

"Mark?"

"King has the birthmark, resembling a map of South America, on his right buttock. All Kostanidis descendants have it."

His astonishment turns into anger. "King, a Kostanidis? How? Didn't they claim Kennedy slept with that Ryan guy?" he scoffs.

I observe him for several seconds. The man truly loves her.

"In the casino, on the first day I met her, one of the owners told me she slept with many men."

"Excuse me, Mr. Kostanidis," he says, walking past me. But he doesn't enter, just holds the doorknob of Kennedy's room.

"That wasn't true, then?"

"I'll answer your question with another: aren't you a wealthy man? Go after the truth about who Kennedy is. I lived next to that girl from the time she was fourteen, from the moment I found her."

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