19. Duncan
19
DUNCAN
Aurora’s fingers glide over the keys, but her attention isn’t fully on the piano. Every so often, her sharp eyes flick toward me, studying me with a scrutiny that feels far too discerning for a nine-year-old. After what feels like an eternity — more like ten minutes — she stops abruptly, a single note lingering in the air before fading into silence. Her hands drop to her lap as she swivels to face me with a pointed expression.
“They could be a while,” she says, gesturing toward the stairs with a small shrug. “Their chat or whatever.”
“Okay.”
She studies me again, her head tilting slightly. “You have questions.”
It isn’t a question, and I feel myself nodding before I even realize it. “Yeah. A few.”
She lets out a small sigh, the kind that seems too knowing for someone so young. “I have two moms and a dad,” she announces, sitting up straighter like she’s delivering a practiced speech. “Technically, I have two dads too, but I don’t know who one of them is.”
Her words hang in the air, and I can only stare as the pieces begin slotting together. The resemblance, the piano, the connection between her and Odette — it’s all there, staring me in the face, literally , but the dots aren’t connecting.
Aurora sighs again, like she’s used to explaining things to confused adults. “I’m adopted,” she continues, as if explaining a math problem to a particularly slow student. “Odette’s my mom, Azriel and Peyton adopted me when I was a baby. It’s easier to say I have two moms and one dad, though. It throws people off, and when they don’t understand something, they don’t ask questions. They’re scared of looking stupid.”
I nod slowly, stunned at her clarity and perception. “That’s… pretty clever.”
“I know.” She shrugs, brushing off the compliment as if it were obvious. “You have to be smart about these things. Dad says I should give them just enough information to make them curious, but not too much so they make assumptions.” Another shrug. “I don’t know what it means, but he’s the smartest person I know, so I do as he says.” Her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s easier that way.”
Her composure is unnerving, but I can’t tear my eyes away from her. My voice comes out hoarse when I finally ask, “Do you ever wonder about your biological dad?”
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Aurora hesitates, the cool confidence slipping just slightly. Her gaze flickers down to the piano keys. “Sometimes,” she admits, her voice quieter now. “But asking about him makes Odette sad. I don’t like seeing her sad… or making her sad.”
Her words hit like a sucker punch, knocking the air out of me. Before I can say anything, she adds, almost as an afterthought, “I heard them talking once. Odette said something about Aspen.”
My heart stutters as everything clicks into place, a symphony of realization that leaves me breathless. I don’t know how long I sit there, staring at her, as the truth cements itself in my mind. Aurora watches me closely, and I can see the gears turning in her head too.
Her eyes narrow for a split second. “Mom hates Christmas. Why did she stay here with you?”
My lips part to answer, but Odette’s voice cuts through the heavy moment.
“We need to talk, Duncan.”
I turn to see her standing at the base of the stairs, her grip on the banister white-knuckled. Her face is even paler than before, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears that she’s clearly fighting to keep at bay.
Her voice trembles just enough to betray her composure. “Aurora, go join your parents upstairs. I’ll be up soon.”
Aurora hesitates, understandably so, her discerning eyes bouncing between us before heading for the stairs. She stops halfway up, turning back to look at us. And just like that, I see it — the moment it all clicks for her too. Her eyes widen, her sharp mind putting the pieces together just as I did moments earlier. She doesn’t say a word. Instead, she turns and bolts up the stairs, her footsteps echoing through the house, soon followed by a door slammed shut.
Odette doesn’t move from her spot, her hands gripping the banister like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded. Her chest rises and falls with shallow breaths, her gaze fixed on the floor.
I stand, my legs unsteady beneath me. “She’s mine, isn’t she?”
It’s a pointless question. I just want her to confirm out loud what all three — possibly five — of us already know.
“I…” she begins, but her voice falters. When she finally looks up at me, her eyes are glassy, brimming with emotions she’s clearly been holding back for far too long. “Yes, she’s yours. Biologically, not legally.”
I stand there, frozen, as Odette’s words sink in. My pulse hammers in my chest, a dull roar that drowns out everything else.
I have a nine-year-old daughter. It’s like deja- fucking -vu all over again.
“When were you planning on telling me?” My voice is low, but it’s rough, raw with anger and confusion.
Odette flinches at the accusation, but she doesn’t look surprised. “It’s complicated.”
“ Complicated? You’re going to have to do better than that, Odette.”
“I didn’t know how to find you. And believe me, I tried.”
“That was then, Odette. You’ve had four days.”
The silence that follows is deafening. She doesn’t move or blink, her expression morphing into a blank slate. “You’re serious?” Her voice is low, dangerous.
Every instinct screams at me to let this one go, to think before blurting out something I’d be sure to regret later. But I don’t listen. I can’t. Not anymore.
“I didn’t mince my words, did I? You’ve had plenty of chances to tell me, and you didn’t.”
“And you wonder why Sydney left you.” Her arms fall to her sides, her hands clenched into fists. “Or why she kept Chloe and Caleb from you. Or why they fucking hate your guts. If this is what you meant by ‘mellowed with age’ , I can only imagine what you were like thirty-three years ago.”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. Even if there is truth to what she’s saying, I don’t appreciate her throwing my past in my face like that. I feel the anger surge inside me — too much of it, too fast. I can’t control it anymore.
My chest tightens as I force out, “That’s different.”
“Is it?” She steps closer, her icy voice cutting through me. “When was the last time you put their needs ahead of yours? Without expecting anything in return?”
“That has nothing to do with this.”
“That’s where you and I differ. For me, Aurora comes first, always. Giving her up was the best thing I could’ve done for her.”
“For Aurora ’s sake? Or for yours ?” I ask before I can stop myself.
She stares at me, her jaw tight. “Everything I do, I do for her.”
“Right. That’s why you decided I wasn’t good enough for my own child. That I didn’t deserve to know her. But it’s not like you’re raising her yourself.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, this was never about you!” She snaps. “It was about what was best for her at the time, and that wasn’t me. Not back then. I don’t regret giving her up. Aurora is a happy, well-adjusted, incredibly talented kid. She has a stable home environment with loving parents. She has everything you and I didn’t have growing up, and frankly, that’s the best any parent can hope for for their child.”
“What about my rights then?”
It takes a second for my meaning to sink in. Her eyes darken, and she takes a step back, like my words physically push her away. “You wouldn’t dare.”
It’s not a statement, it’s a plea.
If I were being rational, this is the part where I shut up. But I don’t.
“Wouldn’t I? You’ve already made all the decisions for me, haven’t you? Why shouldn’t I take back what’s mine?”
“Aurora’s a person, not one of your fucking conquests. She has a family who loves her, parents who give her everything she needs. You can’t take that away from her, Duncan. You can’t destroy her life just because you’re angry at me.”
“I am her father. I deserve to know her, to be part of her life, like you are. But more importantly, I didn’t consent to any of this in the first place. I never signed away my rights, which means her adoption isn’t legal. I’ll have the adoption voided. She’s mine, Odette. No court would deny me that right.”
Her eyes widen in disbelief, her breath catching, like I’ve slapped her. “You bastard!”
I take a step toward her, my fists clenched at my sides, trying to hold myself back. “Watch me.”
“ Mom? ”
Shit.
The thing is, I’m not that dense. I know I took things too far because I can’t bear to look at the one person whose life I just threatened to upend out of spite.
Odette’s expression softens for a brief moment, then she hardens again, crossing her arms. “We’re leaving.”
“But—”
“I said we’re leaving,” she repeats, her voice low and strained. “Go back upstairs. I’ll be there in a minute.”
There’s the sound of receding footsteps, then silence as the words hang in the air between us, thick with the tension that’s built up over the past few minutes. She just stands there, her eyes bore into mine, filled with anger and betrayal. Then she turns, her back to me, and walks slowly, deliberately, up the stairs.
I’m left standing there, hollow and furious, my heart pounding in my ears. I know I’ve pushed her, I’ve gone too far, but I can’t stop the storm inside me. I don’t know what I’m feeling anymore — rage, betrayal, regret — everything mixed together until I can’t tell one from the other.
Minutes drag by. I pace the room, my mind spinning in circles. And then, after what feels like an eternity, I hear the quiet shuffle of feet on the stairs. Odette, Aurora, Peyton, and Azriel come down the staircase with Odette’s suitcases. Their movements stiff and measured, like they're walking away from a battlefield they never intended to fight.
Aurora doesn’t look at me as she walks past me, her gaze fixed ahead, her small hand holding tightly to Odette’s. I watch them, my chest tightening with something sharp and painful that claws at my insides. Odette doesn’t look at me either. Her face is drawn, pale, her eyes red-rimmed, but she doesn’t meet my gaze.
I open my mouth, but no words come out. My throat’s too tight.
They all head for the inside garage door. After ushering them inside the garage, Odette stops at the doorway, her back still to me. She doesn’t turn, doesn’t say a word.
I want to call out to her, want to beg her to stop, to take back everything I said, but the words die in my throat. I’m left there, paralyzed, as they walk out the door and out of my life for good.
Like Sydney did. Like the twins did.
The silence that follows is unbearable.
I have to fix this. I need to fix this.
The problem is, I have no clue where to start.