Mia
The twins chatter in the backseat like excited birds, their voices overlapping as they recount every detail of the evening at Noah's apartment.
"Did you see Maya's drawing, Mom?" Rory leans forward against his seatbelt. "She's really good."
"And Ethan has the coolest stuffed rabbit," Corey adds. "He said his grandma made it before she died."
I glance at them in the rearview mirror, their hazel eyes bright with happiness. For the first time since returning to Riverside, something in my chest loosens. The warmth of the evening lingers like a soft blanket, wrapping around the anxiety that's been my constant companion.
"Sophie's funny," Rory continues. "She kept trying to put princesses in the dragon's cave."
"That's because princesses are brave," Corey argues. "They don't need rescuing."
Their debate continues as I navigate the familiar streets toward our apartment complex.
It's a little late for a school night, but worth it.
Watching the kids play together, seeing Noah's gentle patience with all five children, makes me think maybe this unconventional arrangement could actually work.
It all felt right in a way nothing else has since I came back.
I pull into the parking lot and cut the engine. The twins unbuckle their seatbelts, still talking about their new friends.
Then I notice something on my doorstep: roses. A massive bouquet of deep red roses in an expensive crystal vase.
My stomach drops like a stone thrown into deep water.
"Whoa!" Rory spots them immediately. "Mom, someone left you flowers!"
The twins race ahead while I force my legs to move. After unlocking the door, I open it wide and they rush inside.
I pull the small white card from its holder. The handwriting is familiar, bold, and confident.
Thinking of you. We have unfinished business. - Marcus
The card crumples in my fist. Of course. Of course Marcus would show up now, when everything is already balanced on a knife's edge. The man everyone assumes fathered my twins because I let them believe it.
I grab the vase and carry it inside, the crystal cold against my palms. The twins are in the bathroom, arguing over who gets to use the sink first. I shove the roses into the hall closet behind winter coats and boxes of Christmas decorations, then close the door firmly.
"Brush your teeth," I call out to them. "Both of you. It's late."
The bedtime routine passes in a blur. Pajamas, teeth brushing, and the nightly debate over which stuffed animals get to sleep in their beds. I read them two chapters of their current favorite book, doing all the character voices they love, but my mind races through worst-case scenarios.
Of course Marcus would show up now. I remember our conversation earlier when I found him leaning against my apartment door. He'd smiled that charming smile that used to make my heart flutter, back when I was young and stupid and desperate for someone to love me.
"Mia Wilson," he'd said, his brown eyes tracking over my body. "You look good. Really good."
"What are you doing here, Marcus?"
"Can't an old friend stop by to say hello?" He'd pushed off the door, moving closer. "I heard you were back in town. Thought we should catch up."
"There's nothing to catch up on."
"No?" His smile was teasing.
I crossed my arms over my chest, creating a barrier between us. "No. We broke up years ago. I see no reason for you to be here or for me to catch you up on anything."
He tilted his head, studying me with an intensity that made me uncomfortable. "Because I've been thinking about you a lot lately. About us. About how good we were together."
"We weren't good together." The words came out sharper than I intended. "We were young and stupid, and it ended for a reason."
"Multiple reasons, if I remember correctly." His smile didn't falter. "Most of them my fault. I was an idiot back then, Mia. I didn't appreciate what I had."
I glanced toward the parking lot, hoping none of my neighbors were witnessing this conversation. The last thing I needed was more complications in my already tangled life. "Marcus, I really don't have time for this."
"Five minutes." He held up his hand. "Just give me five minutes. Please."
Something in his voice made me pause. It wasn't the cocky confidence I remembered from our relationship. There was a vulnerability there, a genuine plea that caught me off guard.
"Fine. Five minutes."
His face lit up like I'd given him the world. "I've been in Chicago for the past six years. Corporate law, making good money, and doing all the things I thought would make me happy." He laughed, but it sounded hollow. "Turns out, success isn't all it's cracked up to be when you're alone."
"You're not alone. You've probably dated dozens of women since me."
"I have," he admitted without shame. "None of them were you."
My stomach twisted. This was not the conversation I needed to be having. Not with Noah's smile still fresh in my mind, not with Jack's presence looming over everything, not with Blake's intensity making my heart race in ways I didn't want to examine.
"Marcus, whatever you think you remember about us, it's not real. We were kids. We wanted different things."
"We wanted each other." He stepped closer, close enough that I could smell his cologne. Expensive, sophisticated, nothing like the cheap body spray he used to wear in college. "At least, I wanted you. I was just too stupid and immature to show it properly."
"And now you're older and wiser?" I couldn't keep the skepticism out of my voice.
"Now I know what I lost." His hand reached out, fingers brushing against my arm. "I know that I let the best thing that ever happened to me walk away because I was too focused on my career, too selfish to see what was right in front of me."
I pulled my arm back. "You're romanticizing the past. We fought constantly." I'm not the same person you dated in college," I said carefully. "A lot has changed."
"I can see that." His eyes traveled over me again, appreciative but not leering. "You're more confident. More beautiful. More... everything."
"Marcus." I sighed, exhaustion suddenly weighing on me. "I appreciate the trip down memory lane, but I have a lot going on right now. My life is complicated in ways you can't imagine."
"Then uncomplicate it." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a business card. "Have dinner with me. Let me take you somewhere nice, somewhere we can actually talk without standing outside your apartment."
I stared at the card without taking it. "I don't think that's a good idea."
"Why not? Are you seeing someone?"
The question should have been simple to answer. But how could I explain that I was technically not seeing anyone, but also somehow entangled with three different men, each representing a different part of my past and present?
"It's complicated," I repeated.
"Life is always complicated." He tucked the card into my hand, his fingers lingering against mine. "But that doesn't mean we can't try. Think about it, okay? No pressure. Just ... think about it."
He started to walk away, then turned back. "Oh, and Mia? I'm not giving up that easily this time. I let you go once. I'm not making that mistake again."
I watched him disappear into the parking lot, his confident stride never faltering. The business card felt heavy in my hand, like it weighed more than simple paper and ink.
That had been hours ago, before dinner at Noah's. Now, sitting in the quiet apartment with my children finally asleep, I pull out Marcus's business card from the back pocket of my jeans and stare at it. I should throw it away.
My phone buzzes in my hand, making me jump. Mom flashes across the screen.
My throat tightens as I answer. "Hello?"
"Mia." My mother's voice sounds strained, stretched thin like a wire about to snap. "I need you to come to dinner tomorrow night."
"Mom, I don't know if that's--"
"Please." The word comes out as almost a sob. "It's important. Your father ... he's been asking about you. And I think it's time."
Time. The word settles in my stomach like a stone. Time for what we've both been avoiding. Time to tell him about Rory and Corey.
"I don't know if I'm ready," I whisper.
"None of us are ready." My mother's voice cracks. "But we're running out of time, sweetheart."
There's a slight pause. “The boys should meet their grandfather while they still can. He deserves to know them, Mia."
Guilt crashes over me in waves. She's right. Of course she's right. But the thought of walking into that house, of facing my father's questions, of watching him meet Rory and Corey for the first time while knowing I kept them from him for nine years...
"Okay," I hear myself say. "What time?"
"Six o'clock. I'll make his favorite meal." Her voice softens. "Thank you, Mia. I know this is hard, but it's the right thing."
After we hang up, I sit in the darkness of my living room, my phone clutched in my hand. After a while, I go to bed, but I don't sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see my father's face and imagine his expression when he learns the truth.
By the time dawn breaks, I've run through a hundred different scenarios, none of them ending well. I get the twins ready for school in a fog, barely hearing their chatter. They're so excited, so innocent, completely unaware that their world is about to shift on its axis.
The day drags by with agonizing slowness. I try to work, but I can't focus. I try to clean, but I keep stopping mid-task, frozen by anxiety. By the time I need to pick up the twins from school, my hands are shaking.
The day goes by both too slow and too fast. Soon, it's evening and we're on our way to my parents' house.
I ring the doorbell and the door opens almost immediately, like my mother was waiting right behind it. Tears are already streaming down her face as she looks at the twins, her hand flying to her mouth.
"Oh my God," she whispers. "Oh my God, they're beautiful."
Behind her, I can see into the living room. My father sits in his recliner, looking frailer than I remember, his skin pale and paper-thin. But that's not what makes my blood run cold.
Standing next to my father, holding a glass of iced tea and smiling like he belongs there, is Jack. His eyes meet mine across the distance, and something flickers in them. Surprise? Triumph? I can't tell.
And sitting on the couch across from them, looking equally comfortable and possessive, is Marcus. He raises his glass to me in a small salute, that same confident smile playing on his lips.