Chapter 28
JOY
For a moment, the words didn’t mean anything.
They hovered in the air between us—because I am your mother—detached from sense, from logic, from me. Like a phrase spoken in a foreign language I didn’t know well enough to translate.
The lantern hissed softly beside Victoria, its flame flickering as the wind rolled in off the water. Waves whispered against the edges of the sandbar. The night carried on as if nothing had happened.
As if my entire life hadn’t just cracked down the center.
“That’s not possible,” I said.
My voice sounded calm. Almost bored. Like I was correcting someone who’d gotten a date wrong.
Victoria tilted her head slightly, studying me the way she’d done since the moment she saw me—like I was a problem she’d solved once and now couldn’t unsee. “It is.”
“No,” I said again, firmer this time. “You’re lying.”
Micah’s hand tightened around mine, grounding, warm. I clung to it without looking at him, afraid that if I did, the world would tilt too far.
I laughed once, sharp and hollow. “You don’t even know me.”
Victoria’s mouth curved, not quite a smile. “I know exactly who you are.”
That did it.
Something inside my chest splintered, the denial giving way to a sick, cold spiral of thoughts I didn’t want to follow but couldn’t stop.
“No,” I whispered, the word unraveling now. “No. This—this doesn’t make sense.”
My gaze snapped to Byron.
My stomach dropped before the question even fully formed.
“Oh, my God,” I breathed. “Is he—?”
The thought hit like a physical blow.
Byron’s face drained of color instantly. “Joy—no.”
I wrenched my hand free from Micah’s and stumbled back a step, sand shifting under my feet. My breath came too fast, too shallow.
“Is he my father?” I demanded, the words tumbling out now, panicked, raw. “Because if he is—if he’s my father—then Micah—”
I gagged.
The idea slammed into me so violently my knees buckled. I bent forward, hands braced on my thighs, retching dryly as my body revolted against the thought.
Micah was instantly there, one arm wrapping around me, the other gripping my shoulder. “Joy. Hey. Hey. Breathe.”
“I can’t—” I gasped. “I can’t—”
Byron moved fast, crossing the sand in three long strides. “Joy, listen to me. I am not your father.”
I shook my head violently. “You don’t know that.”
“I do,” he said, voice firm, cutting through the chaos. “I swear to you. I am not your father. And Micah is not your brother.”
The words hit like oxygen.
I sucked in a breath so sharp it burned.
Victoria sighed, annoyed. “For God’s sake, Byron, I told you this would be messy.”
My head snapped up. “Then tell me,” I demanded. “Tell me right now.”
She looked at me for a long moment. Then, reluctantly, she nodded. “He is not.”
My knees nearly gave out again—but this time from relief.
Micah pulled me closer, his forehead pressing to my temple. I could feel his heart hammering, just as frantic as mine.
“Joy,” he murmured, low and urgent. “Look at me.”
I did.
His eyes were dark, fierce, terrified. But steady. Still mine.
“I would never touch you if there was even a chance,” he said. “Never.”
“I know,” I whispered, tears finally spilling over. “I know.”
My body sagged against him as the worst of the nausea passed, leaving me shaky and hollow. I wiped at my face with the back of my hand, anger flaring suddenly through the fear.
“So, if he’s not,” I said, turning back to Victoria, “then who is?”
Victoria’s gaze flicked away. “That’s not relevant.”
“It is to me,” I snapped. “You don’t get to drop something like this and then decide what I’m allowed to know.”
Byron exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. “Joy … I was away when she got pregnant. Out of the country.”
Victoria shot him a sharp look. “You don’t get to explain my life for me.”
“I remember it all, though,” Byron said quietly, ignoring her.
My heart pounded. “You knew.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t—”
“I didn’t know it was you,” he said immediately. “I didn’t know where you ended up. I didn’t even know if the baby survived.”
That word—baby—hit differently now.
Victoria’s shoulders slumped slightly, something brittle cracking in her posture. For the first time, she looked … tired.
“I didn’t want to give you up,” she said abruptly.
The words landed hard.
I stared at her. “What?”
Her mouth tightened. “I said I didn’t want to.”
My chest ached. “Then why did you?”
The question tore out of me before I could stop it, raw and childlike and humiliating in its need.
“What was wrong with me?” I demanded. “Why wasn’t I enough?”
Micah stiffened beside me, his arm tightening, but I couldn’t stop now. Years of questions I’d never let myself ask surged up all at once.
“I was good,” I said, my voice breaking. “I was quiet. I was easy. I would’ve been anything you needed me to be.”
Victoria flinched.
“I was not well,” she said sharply. “I was dangerous.”
I shook my head. “That’s not an answer.”
“It is,” she snapped back, then stopped herself. Her voice softened, just a fraction. “I wasn’t stable. I was paranoid. Angry. I trusted the wrong people. I was in deep with things I couldn’t walk away from.”
Byron nodded slowly. “She was afraid she’d ruin you.”
Silence fell.
The wind whipped across the sandbar, the lantern flickering wildly.
“You loved him,” I said suddenly, looking between them.
Victoria’s breath caught.
Byron’s gaze dropped.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Victoria laughed softly, bitter and nostalgic all at once. “I did.”
Her eyes lingered on Byron in a way that felt intimate, unguarded. “He was … different back then. Before all the walls.”
Byron stepped closer without seeming to realize it. “You were brilliant. Terrifying. Magnetic.”
She scoffed, but her hand lifted—just for a second—brushing his wrist. The touch was brief, charged with history.
Micah shifted, tension rolling off him, but he didn’t interrupt.
Neither did I.
Because I could see it now. The ghost of something real between them. Something that hadn’t died so much as hardened into something ugly.
Victoria pulled her hand back, straightening. The softness vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
“I didn’t give you up because I didn’t want you,” she said, turning back to me, her voice sharp again. “I gave you up because I loved you enough not to keep you.”
The words sliced deep.
“And look at you,” she continued coldly. “Safe. Loved. Soft.”
Something in her eyes hardened. “You should be grateful.”
Grateful.
The anger surged again, hot and righteous.
“I am,” I said. “But don’t mistake that for forgiveness.”
Her lips thinned.
“I need time,” I said suddenly, exhaustion crashing over me. “I can’t—” I shook my head. “I can’t process this here.”
Micah turned to me instantly. “Joy—”
I reached for him, pressing my palm to his chest. “I’m with you. I swear. I just need … a minute. A few hours. To think. I need to get out of here.”
His jaw flexed. “I don’t like you leaving.”
“I know,” I said softly. “But I need to.”
Byron was already lifting his radio. “I’ll get the helicopter.”
Victoria said nothing as the rotors grew louder in the distance, her face unreadable in the lantern light.
Micah walked me to the edge of the sandbar, his hands framing my face. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said fiercely. “No matter what this is.”
I nodded, tears blurring my vision again. “I know.”
The helicopter descended, wind and noise swallowing the night. As I climbed aboard, I looked back once.
Byron stood near Victoria, the lantern casting long shadows between them.
Micah stood alone, watching me like the world might fall apart if I disappeared.
I pressed my hand to the glass.
Then the helicopter lifted, carrying me away from the sandbar, away from the truth I hadn’t asked for but now carried with me.
I closed my eyes.
And breathed.