Page 55 of Single Mom's Secret Diary
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Ezra
God, I knew it. The moment I saw Charlie, I knew. The boy looks just like me when I was a kid.
My jaw clenches in acknowledgement and frustration. And part of me is so, so angry at Avery for not saying anything. Especially after she accused me of lying to her. Which, granted, I did. But this is so much bigger than having a girlfriend back home whom I planned to break up with.
And she held that against me for so, so long.
If she had just talked to me that morning instead of running away, we might have been able to stay in touch. I could have been there for her pregnancy, for Charlie’s birth, for the last nine years of his life.
Fuck. I have a son. With Avery.
It’s something I’ve dreamed about for the last decade.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” It’s the only question I can ask. How could she still not trust me after the last month?
No wonder she never shows off pictures of him around the office like every other mother I’ve met. I can’t believe it never even dawned on me that she could be hiding this.
“How was I supposed to?”
I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling, trying to rein in the anger that’s settled low in my chest. She should have found a way. “I don’t know. Seems pretty simple to me. ‘Hey, Ezra. Remember when we had that whirlwind romance ten years ago? Well, I got pregnant and had your son. Want to meet him?’”
When I finally look at her again, tears are swimming in her eyes. It takes too much effort to keep from trying to comfort her. Right now is not the time for that. Not when I’ve had to force her to admit that Charlie is mine.
He’smine. The thought catches on a myriad of emotions that I can’t quite decipher yet.
“I didn’t want to blow up your life.” Avery almost sounds like she believes it.
Her tone lets me latch back onto that righteous anger at her selfishness. “No. You didn’t want to blow up yours.”
“His,” she counters, her arms tightening around herself like she’s barely holding it together. When was the last time I’d seen her on the brink of falling apart like this?
Never. I’ve never seen her like this.
That hits me square in the chest. I know she is a protective mother. Was this all to protect him instead of herself? Could I fault her for that?
I imagine all of the things my mother did for me as a single mom. How she escaped Vietnam when she was pregnant to come to America and give me a good life. How hard she worked. How she refused to tell me stories about my dad when I asked about him. When I threw fits and wouldn’t talk to her for days because she wouldn’t answer my questions about him.
When I grew up and did my own research at college, I didn’t like what I found. My father, whose name I’d only heard in passing once, was a Communist general known for abusing the local poor women. Like my mom. And she’d been trying to save me from knowing. To let me grow into myself instead of thinking I might be like him.
I’m not my dad, and it makes me wonder what Avery told Charlie about me all these years or if she simply refused to talk about me at all.
Is it selfish of me to be angry with her over this? Over protecting her son in the best way she knew how? That as much trust as we’ve built, she still wasn’t going to tell me?
Am I weak for wanting to forget about the secret and just be with them both?
Avery closes her eyes, and a tear falls. I can’t resist brushing it away, cupping her face, kissing her forehead.
“Were you ever planning to tell me?”
“Eventually.”
God, I hate how defeated she sounds, like I’m going to tear her down right this second and leave her to put all the pieces back together on her own.
A soft laugh escapes, surprising me and her, but I pull her into me, wrapping myself around her to show her what I truly want. The family I never knew I had. The love of my life. Our child.
As devastated as I am, I’m more overjoyed that I finally have a chance at it.
