Page 20 of The One Who Changed Everything

Evan

Isat on the steps outside her apartment for what felt like an eternity, my legs beginning to cramp from the awkward perch. My fingers drummed against the concrete, an involuntary response to the tension churning inside me. I couldn’t even distract myself with my phone. Every time I tried, I just ended up doing searches about the genetics of Long QT syndrome and how to run a paternity test.

I wasn’t leaving until I talked to her though. Jake had done me a solid favor, convincing one of the nurses to give me a heads-up when Samantha was running home. It had taken everything I had to walk away from the emergency room yesterday, and even more restraint to stay away after my shift ended at eight this morning.

As much as my heart was screaming at me to force my way into the hospital room, I knew I couldn’t. Not yet.

So instead, I was sweating through my shirt as the unforgiving sun beat down on the apartment entrance. I stared down at my shoes, wondering why the steps I’d taken in life would have led me here. That night hadn’t been life-altering enough?

I heard a car door slam and slow footsteps approached. They stopped abruptly. I glanced up and found her standing on the walk a few feet away.

Samantha looked like she hadn’t slept in days. Her usually neat hair was a tangled mess, strands falling loosely around her face, some sticking to the faint sheen of sweat on her forehead. Her eyes, normally warm and steady, were bloodshot, with dark circles hanging beneath them, as if the weight of worry had stolen the rest of her energy.

Her clothes were wrinkled, the dress pants and loose cardigan hanging limply on her frame.

But even in her exhaustion, there was something in her posture, a quiet strength that demanded attention. She was fragile, yes, but she was holding it all together. The lines of her face were drawn with fatigue, but there was no denying the fierce protectiveness that radiated from her. She was a mother, through and through.

And she was hurting.

“I can’t do this right now,” she said, sounding exhausted to the core. I pushed aside the concern for her well-being that needled its way into my thoughts.

“This conversation is not optional,” I retorted, unable to keep the edge from my voice. It was as if it had a mind of its own, demanding and urgent, betraying the turmoil that was eating me up inside.

She inhaled sharply, her movements precise as always, but I could see the surprise flicker across her features.

"First of all, how is she?” I asked, gentling my tone as I stood to look her in the eye. I wanted to demand answers, to shake the truth out of Samantha like leaves from an autumn tree, but concern for Sophia held me in check. It was a strange feeling, caring so deeply for someone I barely knew, yet feeling tied to by an invisible thread.

Samantha looked at me, her lips trembling just slightly, but her expression remained closed off. "She's stable," she said quietly. "Just needs to rest. The doctors are monitoring her heart closely."

I nodded, the lump in my throat growing heavier with every word she spoke. She wasn’t ready to break—not yet. But I could see it in the way her shoulders sagged when she thought I wasn’t looking. Samantha was running on fumes.

I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, trying to find a comfortable stance on the unforgiving concrete steps. The evening breeze carried the scent of freshly mowed grass and the distant hum of a lawn mower, a reminder of normalcy in a world that felt anything but normal.

"I need to know the truth about Sophia." My hands clenched into fists at my sides, as if preparing to fight.

Her eyes dropped to the ground before meeting mine once more. She stood a little straighter, an unconscious preparation for the impact of truths long buried. "Evan," she began, her voice steady despite the tremor I could see in her hands.

“Don’t lie to me this time. She’s mine, isn’t she?”

Part of me was still expecting her to deny it.

Samantha's heart seemed to sink, her shoulders drooping ever so slightly under the weight of the secret she'd carried alone for too long. But then, with a subtle shift, she steeled herself, facing me with a resolve that I couldn't help but admire, even as it tore me apart.

“Seems like you already know she is,” she replied, trying to push past me.

Time stood still. The world stopped spinning, or maybe it spun too fast for me to keep up. Words escaped me, as did the breath from my lungs. Fury surged through me like wildfire, burning away the years of detachment I'd cloaked myself in. Itwas as if I'd been living in black and white, and suddenly the world erupted in unforgiving color.

I bit back a curse word, stepping away from the door and pacing on the short walkway. “How–” I managed to say, my words dissolving into the hot afternoon air. "How could you keep this from me?" My voice broke through the silence, raw and unfiltered. Her admission hung heavy around us, a confession that changed everything, a truth that demanded its due after years of being locked away.

I stared at Samantha, feeling the fury building inside me like a storm brewing on the horizon, as she remained silent. "You stole years from me," I said, my voice rising uncontrollably, each word sharpened by betrayal. "Years I could've had withmy daughter."

Holy smokes. The words hit me like a sucker punch. My daughter. Sophia was my daughter.

"I did what I had to do," she insisted, defiance mixing with a hint of regret. Her shoulders squared, even as her voice shook. "I was alone, Evan. I did what was best for her.”

“Best for her? Or easiest for you?" I challenged, unable to keep the edge from my words. My heart raced, fueled by a potent cocktail of anger and heartache.

“You weren't here! You never came."

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