24. Everett
Everett
Isit alone in the theater, long after Riley hangs up.
The place is quiet in that familiar way it has been while I worked on bringing it back to life. Dust drifts through the light streaming in from the high windows, and somewhere in the lobby, a loose piece of trim tapped softly against the wall every time the wind pushes through the old building.
One week until this place will be filled with people instead of silence.
Normally that thought would be the only thing on my mind.
Instead, my brain kept circling the same conversation I just had with Riley.
“You’re scared it will push her away.”
He wasn’t wrong.
For one week I had been trying to handle everything on my own.
Sydney.
The paternity test.
The theater.
The idea that I might have a daughter.
Every time I thought about telling Violet, I stopped myself with the same reasoning.
You don’t have all the answers yet.
Wait until you know for sure.
Don’t bring something big into her life unless it’s true.
But sitting here now, the quiet pressing in around me, another thought finally pushes through all the excuses.
Violet isn’t someone I am trying to protect from the complicated parts of my life. She is someone I want to build something real with. And real means messy sometimes. Real means uncertainty. Real means letting someone stand beside you even when you don’t have everything figured out yet.
I rub my hands over my face slowly.
Riley said something else before we hung up.
If she’s the right woman, it won’t scare her off.
That doesn’t mean the conversation would be easy. But avoiding it definitely isn’t the answer.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and open our text chat.
For a second, I just stare at the message box.
Then I type.
Me:
Hey, I know I’ve been silent. And I am sorry. If you have a moment today, can you come to the theater?
The three dots that show her typing have me staring at the screen.
Violet:
Hey, yeah, I can sneak away for a bit once Maddie is here in a couple of hours. I hope everything is okay.
Me:
It will be. And okay, I’ll be here, waiting.
Now that the conversation is underway, I feel its weight in a new way. I stand and walk toward one of the screening rooms. The seats are newly installed, the carpet freshly cleaned. The screen glows faintly in the dim light.
I sit down, halfway up the row, and sit in my thoughts. Gathering what I want to say to her.
I am in my office when I hear the front door open a couple of hours later. Getting up, I walk down the small hall into the foyer, and there she is. Violet. The most stunning girl to ever have walked the earth. She has her back to me, looking around at everything that has changed.
As she turns around, she gives me a soft smile. She’s kept her distance, which I expected.
“Hey,” she says.
“Thanks for coming on short notice. I just missed you and wanted to talk,” I say.
I start walking toward the screening room, and she follows behind. I sit down in the back row, and she sits, leaving a chair between us.
“What’s going on?” she asks.
I take a breath.
“I need to talk to you. Something happened a week ago.”
Her eyebrows pull together slightly.
“Okay.”
“My ex called me.”
Her posture stiffens a little at that. “Alright.”
“She told me something that I wasn’t expecting.” I exhale slowly. “She says I have a daughter.”
The words hang between us.
Violet doesn’t react right away. She just blinks once, processing.
“How old?” she asks quietly.
“Three.”
Her gaze drops to her hands for a moment.
“That’s…big.”
“Yeah,” I say.
“I’ve asked for a paternity test,” I continue. “I don’t want to assume anything until I know for sure.”
“That makes sense,” she adds, nodding her head.
“I should have told you sooner,” I say.
“Yeah, you probably should have.”
There was no anger in her voice. But there was honesty. I’ve hurt her.
“I wasn’t sure how much truth was in it,” I explain. “And I didn’t want to drop something like that on you until I had all the answers.”
“I understand that,” she says. Then she looks at me again. “But that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt a little that you didn’t let me in.”
That hits me hard. I never wanted her to feel like this.
“I know,” I say.
“I’m not upset about you having a daughter,” she says. “Not really.”
Her shoulders lift slightly in a small shrug.
“I’ve accepted that kids might not be in my future, but that doesn’t mean I’ve completely written them off…
” She pauses. “What I’m struggling with is the communication part.
I could tell something was wrong, and instead of talking to me about it, you left me in the dark.
I understand needing time to process, everyone does.
I’m not upset about the space. I just wish you would’ve told me the news and said you weren’t ready to talk about it yet.
I would have respected that. Because then I wouldn’t have been sitting there wondering what was going on, wondering if it was me, or us.
This, between us, is still new. And new means vulnerable.
Trust and communication matter, and they were missing. ”
I open my mouth to say something and drag a hand over the back of my neck.
“You’re right. I told you when I get overwhelmed I shut down and pull away.
I wanted you to understand me, but somewhere along the way I think I used that as a pass instead of thinking about how it would affect you.
And that’s not fair to you. You shouldn’t have to sit there wondering if it was you or us.
You deserve better than silence. I was overwhelmed and I handled it badly.
And I really am sorry, Violet. I am sorry that I hurt you.
I can’t promise I’ll never shut down again, but I do promise to work on it and let you in.
I can promise I’ll do better and you won’t ever have to fill in the blanks again. ”
Violet takes a deep breath in and I see a small smile across her face. “Thank you, that really means a lot. What happens now?” she asks.
“The test results should be back any day.”
“And if she’s yours?”
I take a breath.
“Then I’m meeting her.”
Violet adjusts in her seat. “I think I need some time,” she says gently.
“Of course, I understand,” I say. And I do, I had my time, it only makes sense that she has time to process things, too.
“This is a lot to absorb,” she says, her eyes softening slightly. “I appreciate that you told me.”
“I should have done it sooner.”
She gives a small nod. “Yeah. You should have.”
Then she stands up. I stand too. When we reach the aisle, she pauses.
“The grand opening is in six days, right?”
“Yeah, I really hope you are going to be there, but I understand if it is too much.”
She holds my gaze for a moment.
“I want to be,” she says. “But I need a little time to get my head around this first.”
“That’s fair.”
She nodded once more. Then she walked toward the exit.
The theater door closed behind her with a soft click.
That evening, I am back in my office at the theater, finishing paperwork when my laptop chimes.
A new email notification appears. The sender’s name makes me catch my breath.
Law Office of Bennett & Cole
I stare at the subject line.
Paternity Test Results.
My heart starts beating harder. Slowly, I open the email. A document is attached. I click it. The results are only a few lines long.
Clear.
Direct.
Unmistakable.
Probability of paternity: 99.99%
I stare at the screen.
Emily.
My daughter.