Chapter 28
Baptiste
I haven’t slept in four days. Every time I close my eyes, all I see is Harper—tears in her eyes as I leave her in front of the police station. It took everything I had not to go back. Heck, it still does. But I just can’t condone what she did.
I clench my fists at my sides, grinding my teeth in frustration. Why do people have to spoil everything? Why do people always end up hurting me? Abandoning me. Cheating on me. Leaving me for a job across the globe. Lying and stealing DNA from me.
I really wanted to forgive her. And I almost did when she said she loved me. Finally, after weeks of wondering if we were on the same page, she actually said it. But that only made her betrayal even tougher to digest. You don’t lie to someone you love. You don’t steal from them.
I roll out of bed and rub my burning eyes, my head pounding from lack of sleep. When I check my phone, I’m greeted by a text from Miles in our group chat.
Miles: Game of NHL Master this morning? I’m making pancakes.
Adler: I’m in. Be there in 15.
Miles: Froggy, you in?
They’ve been wanting to hang out for days, and I keep turning them down. It’s only the three of us in New York right now, since everyone else is on vacation.
I groan, dragging myself upright, when another message hits the screen.
Adler: Let’s just go to his place. He won’t be able to ignore us then.
I sigh.
Baptiste: I’m not in the mood.
Miles: We’ll be there soon.
Adler: Unless you want to save us the trouble and drag your French butt to our building.
I shake my head at my phone. Adler and Miles live in the same building. Fitting, since they’re both equally annoying.
Baptiste: Fine. I’ll come.
I shuffle over to the shower, standing under the water longer than necessary, hoping it’ll wash away the deep ache in my chest. It doesn’t.
When I step back into my apartment, I realize the place is a mess—laundry piled on the chair, an empty mug on the counter, snack wrappers littering the couch.
I brew some coffee out of habit and immediately regret it when the smell reminds me of our last morning together.
I grab my phone and scroll through my contacts, stopping when I reach her name.
I’ve been itching to call her. To make sure she’s safe.
But I know the girls are still in touch with her.
I didn’t tell anyone why we broke up, just that we had, and they asked if they could remain friends with her.
I know they’d tell me if anything had happened.
I grab my keys and open the front door—and a manila envelope falls at my feet.
I peek outside, glancing left and right, but the street is empty.
Picking it up, I turn it over. A handwritten note is scrawled on the back, just below the seal.
I know I went too far and ruined things between us, but if you want to know the results, here they are.
I freeze, the envelope suddenly weighing down my hands like a stack of bricks.
Her implication is clear. If I open this envelope, I’ll know if Helen is really my mother. But do I even want to know? What would it change?
My phone vibrates again.
Adler: If you’re not here in fifteen minutes, we’re sending the cops to your house.
I roll my eyes, close the door behind me, and clutch the envelope as I walk to my car. I drop it on the passenger seat, then slide behind the wheel and head to Miles’s place.
The moment I slip into traffic, my thoughts spiral. I’ve done just fine not knowing all these years. Do I really want to change that now? Even if she is really my mother, that doesn’t mean we’ll suddenly be family.
I inhale sharply and release a long breath. Fifteen years ago, I would have ripped that envelope open without a second thought. Today, I’m not so sure. I am in a good place in my life. Well—I was. Things are different now.
A few minutes later, I reach their building, find a guest parking space, and take the elevator up. I leave the envelope—and that tormenting choice—in my car for later. I have to think about it some more.
“He’s alive!” Adler shouts when he opens the door, immediately pulling me into a hug.
“Can’t breathe,” I choke out, and he lets me go.
“Don’t be so dramatic, Froggy.”
I step inside and follow him into the large living area.
If you didn’t already know a hockey player lived here, you’d be in the loop by now—framed jerseys line one wall, a couple of signed sticks are mounted like art, and a puck collection is displayed with far more care than most people give to family photos.
I guess that’s what you get when a hockey couple decorates their home.
The space opens naturally into the kitchen, where Miles is flipping pancakes on a large griddle, the aroma of pan-fried dough warm and familiar.
“Hey! It’s about time. Where have you been, man?” Miles asks over his shoulder.
I shrug and sit at the bar. “Where’s Marissa?”
“At work.” He flips two pancakes with practiced ease.
“How are you?” Adler asks, sitting next to me.
I don’t reply, serving myself a glass of orange juice instead.
“Hope you guys are hungry,” Miles says, grabbing plates and stacking three pancakes on each.
“You’ve been MIA because of Harper, right?” Adler prods as Miles sets the plates down and joins us at the bar.
Just hearing her name makes my heart jolt. I wish I could erase the last few days. Wake up and realize this was just a long, messed-up dream.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I mutter, shoving a forkful of pancake into my mouth.
It’s fluffy, buttery—comforting in a way I didn’t know I needed.
I wolf it down like I haven’t eaten properly in days.
Which isn’t far from the truth. I couldn’t even bring myself to eat my favorite snack to numb the pain.
“Bro, you’re scaring us,” Miles says after a beat. “You’re not hanging out. You’re not calling us back. You just announce your breakup and then go radio silent. What happened? Things seemed to be going great.”
“Yeah,” Adler adds. “Harper is a cool girl.”
I snort. “She’s a liar. That’s what.”
They exchange a look, the room going quiet.
“What do you mean?” Miles asks carefully.
I dart my eyes around the room, searching for a way out.
“Come on, man. We won’t back down until we know the truth,” Adler says, crossing his arms like he’s reading my mind.
I sigh. After another bite, I wipe my mouth and then set my fork down. “Fine.”
With that, I dive into the bitter story. How that woman, Helen, came to DC claiming to be my mother. How I specifically told Harper to let it go, and how she still investigated behind my back.
“Whoa, that’s dark,” Adler says, eyes widening. “She went a bit too far, I guess.”
“A bit too far?” I snap. “She literally stole DNA from me.”
“But did she figure out the truth?” Miles asks quietly. “Is that woman your real mom?”
The room goes deathly quiet again, and they both watch me, waiting.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “The answer is tucked in an envelope in my car.”
“What?” Adler blurts. “Why didn’t you open it?”
“Because I’m not sure I want to find out,” I say. “I’ve lived my whole life without knowing, and I was fine with it, you know?”
“Yeah,” Miles murmurs, and I know he understands. He grew up in foster care as well and has never met his biological parents.
“But what if she really is your mom?” Adler presses. “I mean, this would be huge, right? Wouldn’t you want to know?” he adds to Miles.
He hesitates for a second. “I think I would. But I also understand wanting to keep that buried. And if it’s not her, then you have a huge disappointment waiting for you in that envelope.”
I sigh. “Exactly.”
And they don’t even know about the other fake family members who showed up at my door before. Another reason to throw that envelope in the trash.
“And even if she is my mother,” I finally add, “what does it change? Do I even want to know her?”
“I get it,” Miles says, nodding slowly. “It’s weird, I admit… but I think I’d still want answers. Know where I came from. Understand the circumstances. Ask about the rest of my family.”
Adler dips his head in agreement. “And even if you choose to meet up with her, that doesn’t mean you need to have a relationship with this woman. You can hear her out, and if you never want to see her again, then don’t.”
I rake a hand through my hair. He’s not wrong. Maybe it’s worth a shot. “I guess you have a point.”
“Well,” Miles says, “first off, we need to know whether she’s your mom. Want us to grab the envelope from your car?”
I can’t bring myself to answer. I just drop my car key on the counter. Adler grabs it and bolts outside, making us laugh quietly.
He’s back minutes later, slightly out of breath, and neither of us has the heart to tease him for being out of shape—a reminder of just how heavy the situation is.
I take a deep breath and open the envelope. Inside is a single-page report from a private lab, and in bold letters is written:
“Results are consistent with a parent–child relationship.”