“You saw Michael.”
Daniel’s jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
“And you noticed.”
A pause.
A long one.
Daniel didn’t deny it.
He couldn’t.
“Say it,” he said.
Margaret took a slow breath.
“They are your children.”
The room went completely still.
No sound.
No movement.
Just those words hanging in the air.
Daniel blinked once, like his brain needed a second to catch up.
“No.”
It came out immediately, automatic.
“No, that’s not possible.”
Margaret didn’t argue. She just watched him.
“You left,” she said softly. “And a few months later, Emily came to this house.”
Daniel froze.
The name hit him like something physical.
“Emily,” his voice dropped.
“She was pregnant.”
Silence.
Daniel felt something shift violently inside him.
“No,” he whispered again.
But this time, it wasn’t denial.
It was realization.
Memories rushed back. Conversations. Moments. Things he hadn’t connected before. Things he hadn’t wanted to connect.
He sat down slowly, like his legs weren’t fully working anymore.
“Twins,” Margaret said. “A boy and a girl.”
Daniel stared at the table. His breathing changed—slower, heavier.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
The question came out broken.
Margaret closed her eyes for a second.
“I tried.”
Daniel looked up sharply.
“Tried?”
“Many times.”
She opened her eyes.
“But every time I picked up the phone, you were building something. You were finally getting out.”
Daniel shook his head.
“That wasn’t your decision.”
“I know,” she said immediately. No defense. No excuse. “But I made it anyway.”
That honesty made it harder to be angry.
And somehow, that made it worse.
“So you just decided,” Daniel’s voice rose slightly, “that I didn’t deserve to know I had children?”
Margaret didn’t flinch.
“I decided they deserved stability.”
That landed hard.
Daniel leaned back in his chair and ran his hands over his face.
“Nine years,” he muttered. “Nine years.”
Margaret nodded. “Yes.”
“I missed everything.” His voice cracked slightly. He looked up again. “Their first steps. Their first words.”
He shook his head slowly.
“They don’t even know me.”
Margaret said nothing because there was nothing to argue.
Daniel laughed once, a dry, empty sound.
“And I’ve been here fixing the roof, acting like—”
He stopped because the sentence didn’t matter.
None of it did.
The truth was bigger.
Much bigger.
He looked at her again.
“Does Emily know?”
Margaret’s expression changed slightly.
“She left.”
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