Chapter Twenty-One
Alisha
I'm still agonizing over this decision, terrified that I'm going to make the wrong one.
My time with Charles did help shed some clarity on the whole situation and I know what I need to do - I need to tell Methew the truth. My daughter deserves to know her father and he deserves to know that she exists.
Now I’m standing nervously outside his door, my heart pounding. The secret feels like an unbearable burden, but I know that it's time to reveal the truth. So I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the difficult conversation I’m about to have.
Swallowing hard, I lift my hand and knock on Methew’s door. Doubt and fear continue to swirl through my mind.
A moment later, he opens the front door, a smile tugging the corners of his lips upward, but the expression is more predatory than friendly. Again, I get that nagging feeling that this isn't the right decision, and I'm torn internally. I don't like not listening to my gut, but I also don't know that I can live with myself if I keep this from him.
I've spent countless nights wrestling with the choice I'm about to make, unsure of the consequences that I'll face. And now, with all that uncertainty rising up once more, I take a step back wondering if I should just leave now.
We only spent one night together, and he'll never know if I don't tell him.
“Alisha, it’s so lovely to see you.” His posture relaxes a little bit, and he leans into the doorway before taking a step back and gesturing that I follow him into the house.
I take a hesitant step over the threshold, replaying the memories of our night together. I think about the sweet little girl at home who's the light of my life. I imagine the pain of never knowing her and remind myself to stay strong.
“I'm surprised to see you here,” he says over his shoulder and I find my voice.
“Sorry for just dropping by unannounced and uninvited.”
He turns to face me, walking backward as he spreads his arms wide. “You are never uninvited to my home. You're welcome to stop by anytime you like.” Though the invitation sounds sweet on the surface level, I have a feeling it comes with strings attached. Strings I'm not interested in, especially if they lead back to him.
Internally, I keep reminding myself he has a right to know about his daughter. Besides, it's too late to turn back now. I’ve already come this far, I might as well keep going.
He leads me into a living room, and I barely notice the space. The walls are all painted dark, the furniture is all matching deep burgundy, and the floors underfoot are reflective white. It's certainly a unique space and unlike any I've been in before, but I can appreciate the beauty of it in its own strange way. Maybe I'm the odd one out, but it seems to me like rich people have really odd, extravagant taste.
He walks over to a loveseat and pats the seat beside him, but I choose to take an armchair instead. I don't want to be close enough to touch, and I don't want to give him the wrong idea about why I'm here, even though I have a feeling he already thinks the wrong things. My gut is screaming at me that something feels off, but I harden my resolve. I'm going to do this because it's the right thing to do no matter what.
I take a deep breath, mustering all the courage I possess. “Methew,” I say softly, well aware of the tremble of fear and nerves in my voice, “I have something important to tell you.”
He leans forward slightly, his eyes sparkling. “What is it? You can tell me anything.”
Yeah, I seriously doubt that, but this is something I have to tell him. I'm not going to mistake doing the right thing for trusting him, because I don't.
My words hang heavily in the air, and for a fleeting moment I feel like the air is trapped in my lungs as if I can't breathe, much less speak. I think about how light I will feel after telling the secret. I think about how my daughter's face will light up with the opportunity to meet her real father, even if she hasn't asked who he is yet. I think about how this can change everything from cutting down my time with my daughter because he wants to be part of her life to how much I’ll have to deal with him even though I’d rather not.
But the most important thing in all of this is Evie.
Maybe I can't predict how he'll react, and maybe he'll react poorly, but at least I'll have an answer and that'll give me an opportunity moving forward to figure out what I want to do next.
“Alisha?” he asks, ducking his head as if to get my attention. I meet his stare, snapping out of my thoughts.
I shake my head to clear my mind. “Sorry, I’m a little stressed.”
His expression softens, but I still don't feel at ease. “You have nothing to stress about. I'm glad you're here, finally, right where you belong.”
How this guy can throw so many red flags is a mystery, but it's starting to feel like a parade around here. I almost want to look around the room and ask him where his wife is, but I have a feeling that would just be a waste of breath. I'm sure he'll just correct me anyway and remind me that she's his soon to be ex-wife, as if that makes things any better. It doesn’t... not for me, at least.
Uncertainty fills the space between us, and I know that if I don't tell him right now, I'll never tell him. “We have a daughter, Methew. You have a daughter you never knew about.”
The second the words leave my lips a myriad of expressions cross his features. As the weight of the silence becomes almost suffocating, I watch the surprise, confusion, disbelief, fear, and finally anger flicker across his face.
His gaze searches mine, as if he's desperately seeking some confirmation that this is all a misunderstanding or a cruel joke of some kind. I can understand his disbelief. After all, I've kept this secret hidden for a very long time. But with a situation as complicated as the one we found ourselves wrapped up in, it's not surprising that he'd feel an onslaught of emotions.
“I know this is probably all hard to believe-”
“We used protection.” He sounds almost angry as he speaks, but I don't take this frustration personally.
“Protection can fail.” I think about mine and Charles’ encounter and the broken condom. Protection can fail spectacularly. And I think about how amazing Charles has been through that whole thing and how I'm teetering somewhere between hoping that nothing happens and hoping something does happen. He'd be an amazing dad. I'd love to be a mom to more than one child, but I can't help but feel like the time just isn't right.
“I didn't plan for things to happen this way. I wanted to tell you right away, but you were married, and I didn't want to come between you and your wife and cause problems in your marriage. I didn't know what else to do, so I just stayed quiet.” The fear of becoming a homewrecker had weighed heavily on me for a lot of years, but now that I know they’re splitting, that concern has lifted.
“Our daughter deserves to know her father. She deserves to know you. You deserve to know she exists and to know her.” My chest crushes as I worry about giving up any of my precious time with her, but I wrestle with the knowledge that this is for the best.
His gaze waivers and sweeps the room as if he's trying to ground himself and comprehend the enormity of the revelation I’d just dropped in his lap without warning. He stands up and begins to pace back and forth, and I realize the predatory smile that greeted me at the door had vanished, replaced by a mix of emotions I can't fully decipher.
“I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner.” I feel regret wash through my body. “I was just doing my best to make what I thought was the right decision, and the thought of disrupting your life bothered me.”
He still doesn't say anything, and I feel panic begin to bubble up within me. Again, that little voice inside whispers that this is all just a huge mistake and I shouldn't have said anything.
When he finally speaks, his words make my heart drop to my shoes like a stone. “I can take her.”
“What?” Fear fills me and the hairs on the back of my neck and all along my arms stand on end. “What do you mean, you can take her ?”
“I assume the reason you're telling me this is because it's all overwhelming in one way or another. Maybe you need a day off, a break or child support, I'm not sure, but I can just take her off your hands so you don't have to worry about any of this anymore.”
I blink and shake my head, absolutely stunned at his takeaway from this conversation. “No, I don't want you to take her. And child support absolutely had not crossed my mind. My mom takes her when I need a day off. That's not why I'm here.” I feel almost offended by his implications.
“I'm sorry, I misunderstood.” His voice softens and I realize the type of people he must be used to dealing with, the kind that are always after his money and never care about anything else. I decide to let go of what he said instead of holding it against him.
“That's okay. I know it's a shock.” I can only hope he can see the sincerity in my eyes and know the love and concern I have for our daughter and that she's the most important thing in my life.
“Why didn't you tell me before? Why keep it a secret all these years? You could have just told me in private and confidence, where nobody else could hear.” He seems confused and his voice is raw.
“Even if I told you in confidence, wouldn't you have had to tell your wife?” It finally dawns on me that that's part of my issue with him. He seems to compartmentalize his life and keep everything separate, which gives him ample opportunity to do things behind people's backs. And it's one of the reasons why I never want to be a serious part of his life.
“I guess you’re right.” He walks over and sits back down.
“I just know that denying her the chance to know her father is denying her part of herself.” I don't know how to accurately describe my reasons for everything I did, but I know that they didn't all come from a place of rational thinking. Some decisions I made out of fear, others I made out of what felt right at the time. And still others I haven't stopped to analyze and may never know the reasoning behind.
As we’re both quiet for a few more moments, I can't help but hope and wait for some semblance of understanding, or some sign that I made the right decision by revealing the truth to him. But he's quiet, looking at me for a long moment, his gaze searching mine as his eyes soften.
“Thank you for telling me the truth.” There's a steely edge to his voice that I can't quite decipher, and my heart hardens.
I nod my head in answer and stand, overwhelmingly feeling that our time here is over. He mirrors my movements.
“I hope you understand, I'll need a little bit of time to think about this.”
“Of course,” I say with a smile I don't quite feel as I make my way toward the front door.
But at the front door, he stops and turns me to face him by putting his hands on my shoulders and pivoting my body. He reaches out, putting a curled index finger under my chin and tilting my face up.
“I want to be a part of your lives.” His gaze searches mine, and I wish I felt something other than the need to escape.