Chapter 44 Stevie
forty-four
Stevie
The Next Morning
I’m stiff under the covers.
I haven’t slept.
Kellan’s curled against me, his little hand tangled in my shirt, while my brain runs jagged circles.
Every time my eyes close, the night replays. Isla’s trauma at getting an incomplete. The way Padraig looked at me. The tension at dinner as we tried to act normal in front of all the kids.
The argument. Him walking out. Rightfully so.
God, the sound of the zipper on his bag.
I cry until my chest aches, then force myself into furious scrolling, phone lighting the dark room as I dig through articles and forums about paternity revelations, blended families, teens blindsided by truth.
None of it helps.
How do you protect a sixteen-year-old from having her entire foundation ripped out from under her? Every answer contradicts the last. Some parents recommend honesty at once. Others warn of devastation.
My thumb trembles as I swipe, because I already know in my heart. Isla is Padraig’s. I don’t need a DNA test to prove it.
Their similarities blaze like neon.
Isla’s eyes are Padraig’s. Not because they’re the same shade of brown. Both of them carry more than they give away.
I never thought about her wavy strands of hair she fights with a straightener, same texture as Padraig’s, even if the color’s different.
The sketches crowding the margins of every notebook page, hours vanishing into creating art the way Padraig used to before the band consumed him.
They have the same drive, when they’re focused. Unyielding and relentless once they take their sweet time deciding on a path. Until then, a bit flighty. Petulant.
God, her silences can sink a room. The way she shoulders responsibility no one asked her to—all Padraig. The instinct to protect and give herself away for the ones she loves.
All his pieces stitched into her.
How did I not see it before?
Cooper was thrilled when I told him I was pregnant. He pulled me close, called it fate. I let myself lean into his conviction, desperate to make the story true. She came out blonde and calm, the perfect blend of me and him, so it never occurred to me she wasn’t his.
He died believing she was his. Gave up his life for her.
How do I reconcile the fact we created an entire family around a lie?
I robbed Padraig of his daughter.
I feel sick.
Clutching Kellan tighter, I press my lips to his head. Tears soak his baby hair. He stirs but doesn’t wake.
Four kids plus Rafferty, who comes here so often I’m his second mother. We’ve built this amazing patchwork of children and family, entwined the Hayes with the McGloughlins into one sprawling mess of roots.
Somehow, I’ve shattered the ground beneath us.
At the end of the day, none of this isn’t about me. Or Padraig.
Our hearts can break a thousand times over. We’ll survive it. Maybe not together, but we’ll persevere through the pain.
No, this is about Isla. My girl’s already lost the father she thought was hers. I have to protect her when the truth she never asked for comes crashing in.
My phone slips from my hand to the mattress. I bury my face in Kellan’s neck and sob again, because I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t even know if Padraig will stand beside me to try. Inadvertently, I may have pushed him right out of my life, this time for good.
The sky outside the window bleeds gray when the door opens. My whole body tenses.
Padraig slips into the room before dawn, quiet as though he doesn’t want to wake me. My eyes are open anyway, raw from crying. Kellan shifts against my chest and I press my palm over his small back as if I can shield us both.
He stands there a moment, shoulders slumped, shadows carved into his face.
His eyes find mine in the half light. “What are we gonna do, Stevie?”
Tears rise again before I can stop them. “I don’t know. I failed you. Both of you. I swear to God, I never knew. Now…it’s all I see. Every expression, every silence, every bone in her body. It’s you. It was always you.”
Padraig stares at the floor like he’s holding the weight of sixteen years on his back.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I don’t know how I didn’t see it. I don’t know how I let you miss her whole life.”
He exhales through his nose, slow and heavy. “What do we do now?”
“We have to put our own feelings aside, I think. Stop pretending we have a choice.” I clutch our son tighter against me. “We put her first. No more secrets. No more protecting ourselves—well, me.”
His gaze flicks to mine, torn.
“I can’t go dress shopping today for a wedding we shouldn’t have.
Not when everything’s broken open,” I continue.
“I want your opinion on this, but I think Isla deserves to know immediately. She’s not a child anymore.
We ask our moms to watch the kids and we sit down with her.
Together. Before we do anything else. The three of us. ”
Padraig’s shattered groan catches in his chest. “She’s going to hate us.”
“None of this is your fault. She’ll hate me for a while, not you.
You’ll need to be there for her, whatever it takes.
” My voice wavers at the thought of hurting my eldest child but I push through.
“She needs to know we didn’t shut her out when we realized the situation.
At the end of the day, she comes first.”
The air thickens between us until he finally nods.
Not agreement, not forgiveness. The faintest thread of resolve.
He climbs into bed and takes Kellan. We lie beside each other until it’s bright and then get up and start the day.
The morning crawls, thick with unspoken words. Padraig and I move through the usual motions using muscle memory to guide us through our mental and physical exhaustion. He cooks breakfast for Rafferty and Jude, I change and breast feed Kellan.
Every look between us feels like a deep, purple bruise.
By the time Maureen knocks softly on the front door, I’m strung out on nerves and no rest. She takes Kellan without asking, clucking over his chubby cheeks, promising she’ll keep the little ones busy. Relief and guilt twist together in my chest.
Upstairs, Isla and Lila shuffle around, still in pajamas, hair wild. I call them into our room. Lila flops onto the bed with a dramatic sigh, Isla hovers in the doorway, wary.
“We’re going to have to postpone the dress shopping today.” I try to keep my voice upbeat. “Something’s come up. Everything is fine, I promise, but we need to reschedule.”
Lila groans loud enough to rattle the windows. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” She stomps off, mumbling about wasted weekends. Slams her door for emphasis.
Isla stays rooted to the carpet, eyes sharp on me. “It’s not fine. I heard you and Padraig last night.”
“Sweetheart—” The bottom drops out of my stomach hoping she didn’t hear the details.
Her chin lifts, defensive. “You were fighting.”
“We were.” I almost deny it but, what’s the point.
“Hey, sweetheart.” Padraig steps in from the hall to save me. “Everyone argues. None of it is cause for any concern. We do need to talk, Isla. The three of us without the other kids.”
She looks between us, suspicion etched into every line of her face. “Talk about what?”
“Not here.” I brush a strand of hair behind her ear. “We’re going to go out for a bit. You and me and Padraig. We’ll explain then.”
Padraig drives, his knuckles white around the wheel.
I sit in the passenger seat beside him, every nerve on fire, fighting the urge to reach for his hand when I’m not sure he’d take it.
Isla sits in the back blasting something through her earphones, like a shield. The unease in her eyes says everything.
Neither of us speak until we pull up to his townhouse. It’s early so the street is quiet. We decided to come here so there’s no risk of someone recognizing him in a public place. The subject matter is too risky.
Isla eyes the townhouse like it’s a test she hasn’t studied for. “Why here?”
“Because we need privacy.” Padraig cuts the engine and turns, finally meeting her eyes. “This isn’t something we can talk about anywhere else.”
She looks between us, searching, her brows knitting. “You’re scaring me.”
“We’re not trying to.” I twist in my seat to face her fully. “There’s something you need to hear from us together. It’s important.”
We get out and Padraig unlocks the door to let us inside. Isla lingers in the entryway, backpack slung off her shoulder, waiting.
He gestures toward the couch. “Sit.”
She doesn’t move right away. She studies him. The same way I do when I’m trying to figure out what’s up. She finally plows through the door and lowers herself onto the cushion. Arms crossed tight, phone clutched like a lifeline.
I sit beside her, Padraig across, so she has us both in her sightline. My heart drums so hard it’s all I hear.
Steadying myself, I curl my fingers against my knee. “There’s more to the story of me and Padraig than you know. You’re old enough now to hear it and you deserve the truth.”
Isla’s chin tips up, cautious, but she doesn’t look away.
Padraig leans forward. “The first time I saw your mom was when she moved in next door. We were seven. Even then I felt something I couldn’t explain.
She was my person before I had the words for it.
” His throat catches. “By the time we were your age, we already knew it was more than friendship. We were each other’s firsts in every way.
First love. First sexual experiences. We went to college together.
Lived together. Your mom was the center of my world.
Our bond was unbreakable, or so we thought. ”
Isla’s mouth drops open with shock.
“For years we built our lives around each other.” Padraig’s eyes shadow over. “Until adulthood pulled us apart. I had the band, your mom moved away to New York to pursue her career. Neither of us knew how to close the distance without losing ourselves.”
I exhale, taking over the story. “I met Cooper at work. We were in the same friend group. When Padraig and I broke up he’d already broken up with his girlfriend and we became good friends.
It turned into more when I ended it with Padraig for good.
He and I started dating and I got pregnant with you right away.
We got married at the courthouse before I started showing and created an amazing life with you, your sister, and brother until… ”
“He died.” Isla crosses her arms, fingers absently tracing over the scars from the accident.
Her words cut through me, sharp.
“Yes. He died. It broke all of us.”
Padraig shifts and braces his elbows on his knees, hands locked tight. “Isla, yesterday, when you came home from school and told us about the incomplete. Something happened for both your mum and me. We looked at each other and it clicked.”
Her eyes narrow, arms crossed. “What clicked?”
“Um…” I swallow hard. “It made me consider something I’d never even thought about, but, it’s possible—” my voice wavers “—Padraig might be your biological father.”
Isla’s mouth drops in horror. “What?”
“Isla.” Padraig keeps his eyes steady on her. “From the time I came back into your mom’s life, I’ve always thought of you as mine. Always. Yesterday it all shifted. It felt like the truth has been sitting there, waiting for us to face it.”
“Wait.” Isla blinks, color rising in her cheeks. “So you’re saying my dad might not actually be my dad?”
I reach for her hand. “No, he’ll always be your dad.
He loved you with everything in him. This discussion isn’t about taking him away.
It’s including you in a situation we find ourselves in and making sure you are part of deciding how we move forward.
Whether you want to get a blood test to find out for sure.
This is a lot of information. Shocking information and I can’t promise your mother and me know what we’re doing, but we didn’t want to take further steps until we brought you into the decision making. ”
She turns to me, her eyes sharp, wet and furious. “How could you not know? How…gross!”
The words slice straight through me. “I didn’t know. Cooper loved you from the second I told him I was pregnant but I would have never let Padraig be cut out of your life if I ever suspected he was your biological father.”
“Bullshit.” Her fists ball at her sides. “What kind of person are you?”
Tears blind me, and I shake my head. “I’m your mother.”
Her face crumples through the fury, tears blurring her eyes. “I don’t know who you are, but no mother would willingly put their kid through this.”
Before I can reach for her, she turns, clutching at Padraig’s shirt like he’s the only solid thing left in the room. He pulls her in, arms closing around her as if he’s been waiting her whole life to hold her this way.
She buries her face in his chest, sobs shaking her small frame.
“I’ve got you, mo chroí,” he whispers into her hair. “No matter what. I’ve got you.”
I press my hand to my mouth, grief and awe colliding.
Even in her rage and confusion, Isla went to Padraig.
Straight to him.
How am I going to live with myself?