No hesitation.

“All four?”

She actually looked offended.

“Callum, they’re quadruplets.”

Despite everything, I almost smiled.

Then the weight of the answer returned.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Her expression hardened.

“I did.”

Two People Given the Same Lie

Rowan told me she had learned she was expecting children the night before I flew to London.

According to her, she had told me in bed after midnight.

I had apparently held her hand and promised we would figure everything out when I returned.

I remembered none of it.

The next morning, after I left for the airport, Rowan went to my parents’ home because she was frightened and wanted advice.

My mother, Celeste Mercer, met her in the sitting room.

“She told me you had changed your mind,” Rowan said.

“About you?”

“About all of us.”

My stomach tightened.

Rowan continued.

My mother had offered her $180,000 to start a new life somewhere else.

Rowan refused.

Then her calls to my number stopped connecting.

Two days later, she received an email from my company account stating that our relationship was over and that any future questions should be handled through family counsel.

I stared at her.

“I never sent that.”

“I know that now.”

Then I told Rowan what had happened to me.

When I returned from London, her apartment was empty.

My mother handed me a letter supposedly written by Rowan.

The letter said she could not live in my world, that she had made a mistake, and that I should never search for her.

Rowan’s eyes filled.

“I never wrote that letter.”

For six years, she had believed I rejected her.

For six years, I had believed she chose to leave.

Someone had created two different stories and handed one to each of us.

The Question From a Six-Year-Old

Later that evening, Kellan found me sitting alone near the fireplace.

He climbed onto the chair opposite me.

“Mom says you knew her before we were born.”

“I did.”

“Were you friends?”

I glanced toward Rowan.

She was pretending not to listen from the kitchen.

“We were more than friends.”

Kellan thought for a moment.

Then he asked quietly:

“Are you our dad?”

That question frightened me more than any business negotiation I had ever faced.

I moved closer.

“I believe I might be.”

“Mom says you are.”

“I believe your mom too. But there’s a simple test that can tell us for certain, and I think you deserve certainty.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No. They just rub something gently inside your cheek.”

He nodded seriously.

“Then we should do it.”

He held out his small hand.

I shook it.

Across the room, Rowan turned away to hide her tears.

The Email That Came From My Own Account

The next morning, a private laboratory collected samples from me and the boys.

We would receive the results the following afternoon.

While Rowan took the children to a bookstore, Taryn called.

Her voice was different.

“Callum, I found the archived email.”

I stood.

“What email?”

“The one sent to Rowan six years ago.”

My stomach dropped.

“Where did it come from?”

There was a pause.

“Your account.”

“Impossible. I was in London.”

“The company records show you logged in from London that day. But this particular message was sent from Boston.”

I sat down slowly.

“Which computer?”

Another pause.

“A desktop inside your father’s private office.”

The email included a settlement document offering Rowan exactly $180,000.

At the bottom was the name of a family attorney.

Henry Atwood.

Except Henry Atwood had passed away several years before the document had supposedly been prepared.

Someone had intentionally used the name of a lawyer who could never answer questions.

My Father Finally Told Me What Happened

My father, Warren Mercer, arrived forty minutes later.

He looked at the settlement document once and closed his eyes.

“You’ve seen this before.”

“Yes.”

“Did you make it?”

“No.”

“Did Mom?”

He shook his head.

“Your mother offered Rowan money. I won’t defend that. But she didn’t create this document.”

That surprised me.

Then he admitted something worse.

He had known Rowan was pregnant.

I stood so quickly the chair moved backward.

“You knew?”

“Yes.”

“For six years?”

He lowered his eyes.

“Yes.”

My father explained that Mercer Development had been experiencing serious financial trouble at the time.

The Barrett family—Sloane’s family—was preparing to provide an investment large enough to stabilize the company.

My mother believed my relationship with Rowan could jeopardize those negotiations.

She pressured Rowan to leave.

My father discovered what she had done, but by then the company financing had gone through.

Instead of telling me the truth, he stayed silent.

“I convinced myself Rowan had accepted the money,” he said.

“She didn’t.”

“I know.”

“And you never checked?”

He looked older than I had ever seen him.

“That is something I will carry for the rest of my life.”

Then he told me about one more detail.

During the London trip, I had experienced a strange period of confusion after accidentally taking a medication I did not normally use.

The hotel had investigated how it entered my room.

They never found a clear answer.

But the room connected to the incident had not originally been reserved under my name.

It had been reserved by my cousin.

Declan Mercer.

The Person Who Had Been Standing Beside Me All Along

Declan was more than my cousin.

He had been my closest friend since childhood.

He had found me after Rowan disappeared.

He brought food when I stopped leaving my apartment.

He told me I deserved someone who understood my world.