31. Sienna
THIRTY-ONE
Sienna
The threads of fate have brought us here
Wednesday, April 16
Sienna’s Brownstone
7:43 PM
The apartment is finally quiet. Ollie’s tucked in with his glow-in-the-dark stars casting a faint pattern on the ceiling above his bed. We hummed together until he drifted off to sleep. That is a new one to me, but I loved the calmness it brought both of us.
I grab my phone off the counter as I walk into the kitchen and see a text from Brooke.
I haven’t seen you in a week and I’m in your ’hood. Armed with wine, I’m heading to you. See you in 15.
As soon as I finish reading it, a knock echoes through the apartment. Of course. Brooke’s nothing if not punctual.
I open the door and she holds up a bottle of red like a trophy. Her designer oversized coat hangs off her shoulders. "Am I late to my own intervention?"
I laugh softly, stepping back to let her in. "You know, for someone who’s not a mom, you have the whole ‘showing up after bedtime chaos’ thing down pat."
"Because I’m not a mom," she says, grinning as she kicks off her heels. "I swoop in when the work’s done and claim the fun part. Pour me a glass, Walker."
I grab two glasses and the corkscrew while she shrugs off her coat and settles onto the couch. She folds her legs beneath her and drapes herself over the back of the sofa to watch me.
I hand her a glass and plop down beside her.
"Okay," she says, setting it down dramatically. "Let’s talk. Callum’s gone, Marcus is still an asshole, and you’re what? Stir-crazy?"
"Something like that," I admit, sinking into the seat beside her.
Brooke takes a sip of her wine, studying me with a look that’s way too perceptive for someone halfway into her first glass. "You miss him."
I scoff, rolling my eyes. "He’s only been gone a day. Jesus, when did you become so clingy?"
"I just know you, and you're clingy," she says matter-of-factly. "You'll survive, I promise."
I glance at the glass in my hand, swirling the wine absently. "It’s not just about missing him. It’s about everything else. His career, the PR, the travel. This is what life with him would look like—him being gone, me juggling everything here, waiting for him. And then there’s Marcus, who’s already tried to blow this up once."
Brooke leans back, resting her arm on the back of the couch. "Marcus is a dick, yes. But he’s a predictable dick. You’ve handled him this long, and you’ll keep handling him. Callum, though... that’s something else entirely."
I frown, glancing at her. "What do you mean?"
She shrugs, taking a sip of her wine. "I’ve been telling you from the start not to take everything so seriously. What’s wrong with fucking for fun and letting that be that? Instead, you’re sitting here overthinking every little thing. That’s not just fun for you, is it?"
I stay quiet, the truth of her words settling uncomfortably in my chest.
"It is serious, Brooke," I say finally, my voice quieter. "We have a past, and everything is happening at warp speed. There was never a chance for the two of us to just keep it light."
Brooke nods, leaning back on the couch with a thoughtful expression. "Okay. Then go for it. I don’t really understand why that can’t be enough."
"That’s the problem," I say, staring down at my glass. "I am going for it. But I’m not sure our lives are compatible. He’s flying to LA to shoot music videos and getting mobbed by fans while I’m here, putting Ollie to bed and figuring out the PTA schedule. What if the long-distance thing, the PR, the constant attention... what if I can’t do it? Or worse, what if it’s Ollie who pays the price?"
She tilts her head, her voice softer now. "Do you really think Callum would let that happen?"
Her words catch me off guard, and for a second, I can’t find a response. "I don’t know," I admit finally. "But I know he’s living his dream. And I’m... here. Stuck. I’m not even sure how to make it work."
Brooke leans forward, her expression shifting from playful to serious. "Sienna, no one gets a perfect setup. Life is messy. But if Callum makes you happy—and I mean really happy—then maybe it’s worth figuring out. It doesn’t have to be all or nothing right this second."
Her words settle somewhere deep, their weight heavier than I expected. I lean back, taking a sip of my wine. "Maybe."
Brooke smirks. "Good. Now, let’s stop talking about your rockstar boyfriend for five seconds and talk about me. I think I met the love of my life on a Bumble date last night. Or maybe just someone who bought me an excellent steak."
I laugh despite myself, grateful for the shift in tone. But as Brooke dives into the details of her latest romantic escapade, her words linger.
It doesn’t have to be all or nothing.
But maybe that’s what scares me the most.
Friday, April 18
1:16 PM
The hold music is surprisingly cheery for a DNA testing lab. A jaunty piano tune feels wildly out of place given the weight of what I’m calling about.
My phone rests on speaker mode on the counter, and I pace back and forth. My mind races with everything that’s brought me to this moment.
It started with Marcus’s pattern of control and his relentless meddling. He’s got an insatiable need to orchestrate every aspect of my life. The app Callum and I uncovered was bad enough, but it’s what it made me realize that’s sticking with me now: Marcus always had to have the upper hand.
I pause in my pacing, leaning against the counter. Back then, halfway through my pregnancy, we’d come to an agreement. The truth about paternity wouldn’t matter. Marcus had looked me in the eye and told me it didn’t matter whose child I was carrying. He would be there. He would love us both.
And I believed him.
But then Ollie was born, and Marcus insisted on a paternity test. He’d brushed off my hesitation, saying something about how it would "give us closure" and "clear the air." I didn’t want to fight him on it—not when I was exhausted and adjusting to new motherhood. So I let him handle it. He sent off the samples, took the swabs, and even brought me a copy of the results.
At the time, I didn’t question it. I had no reason to.
Looking back, it is all so strange…how he took it upon himself to use an old brush Callum had left behind in my apartment to use as a control for testing Callum's paternity. I remember being a little weirded out, but I didn't make a deal out of it when he was so hell-bent on it.
Now, I can’t stop thinking about it and how smoothly he handled the whole process. And how I just let him. God, at first, I was the perfect wife for someone like Marcus Walker.
The hold music cuts out, replaced by the crisp voice of a woman. "Thank you for holding. This is Kimberly with BioSure Labs. How can I assist you today?"
I clear my throat, trying to steady my voice. "Hi, yes. My name is Sienna Walker, and I’m looking to get a copy of a paternity test that was done about five years ago. It involved my son, Oliver Walker, and the alleged father, Marcus Walker."
"Of course," Kimberly says. "Do you have the case number or any identifying information from the test?"
I hesitate, my hands tightening on the edge of the counter. "No, I don’t have the case number, but it would have been under Marcus Walker’s name, my husband." Saying that out loud almost makes me nauseous. "He handled the testing. I just want to get a copy of the report."
"Not a problem," she says smoothly. "Let me pull up the records. Can you verify the approximate date and location where the samples were collected?"
I give her the details as my heart thuds in my chest. I wait for what feels like forever. There’s a soft clicking sound on her end, followed by the faint hum of typing.
"Got it," she says finally. "I see a completed test from five years ago. Would you like me to send a copy to your email?"
"Yes, please," I say quickly, rattling off my address.
"It should be in your inbox shortly," she says. "Let me know if there’s anything else I can help with."
"Thank you," I manage, ending the call.
I grab my laptop from the table and open my email, my fingers trembling slightly as I click on the attachment. The document opens, and for a moment, I just stare at it, the words swimming on the screen.
The layout looks official, with the lab’s logo at the top and the participant information listed below.
Mother: Sienna Walker
Child: Oliver Hughey Walker
Alleged Father(s): Marcus Alexander Walker, Callum James Reid
I scroll down to the results, my breath catching as I read the conclusions:
" Based on the analysis, Marcus Walker is excluded as the biological father of Oliver Walker with a 0% probability of paternity."
My heart stops beating and my lungs completely shut down.
" Based on the analysis, Callum Reid is not excluded as the biological father of Oliver Walker with a probability of paternity of 99.99%."
The words don’t make sense at first. Excluded. Zero percent. I read them again, and then again, each repetition sinking deeper into my chest like a blade.
This isn’t what Marcus showed me.
My hands tremble as I grab the printed copy Marcus gave me from the drawer where I keep Ollie’s important documents. I lay it beside my laptop and stare at the two pages, my pulse pounding in my ears. The layout is almost identical, but the differences leap off the page now—the font is slightly off, the header doesn’t match perfectly, and the conclusion is completely different.
" Based on the analysis, Marcus Walker is excluded as the biological father of Oliver Walker with a 0% probability of paternity." " Based on the analysis, Callum Reid is not excluded as the biological father of Oliver Walker with a probability of paternity of 99.99%."
My breath catches, a sob rising in my throat as the truth slams into me.
Callum is Ollie ’ s father. He always was.
I press a hand to my chest, trying to steady my breathing, but it’s impossible. My mind races with every memory, every moment Marcus insisted on handling the test, every time he reassured me that this was for the best, that it would give us clarity and closure.
Closure? He didn’t want closure. He wanted control. He wanted to erase Callum from my life completely.
The realization sends a wave of nausea rolling through me. He didn’t just lie—he stole. He stole years of truth, of connection, of Callum’s right to know his son. And he didn’t hesitate, not for a second.
I glance at the document again, my eyes fixating on Callum’s name. Not excluded. 99.99%.
A sob escapes before I can stop it, but it’s not just anger or betrayal—it’s something bigger. It’s hope.
Ollie is Callum’s. The man I love, the man who left and came back, the man who has been unknowingly connected to my son all along—he’s his father.
Tears blur my vision, and I swipe at them with shaking hands. What do I do with this? How do I even begin to tell Callum? How do I make sense of this for Ollie? For myself?
I stare at the two papers, side by side on the table, their words screaming the truth I didn’t know I needed. Marcus lied. Callum is Ollie’s father. And everything I thought I knew is in pieces.