Page 25 of Love… It's Messy

There’s a conference table in the room, creating a barrier between us. He starts to walk around the table in my direction. I move in the opposite direction.

“Your daughter has wild brown hair,” he states.

“As does about twenty percent of the world’s population.”

“She’s lactose intolerant.”

“Again, not an anomaly.”

“There’s a prominent cleft in her chin.”

“Just like Henry Cavill, Ben Affleck, Matt Damon—”

“Me.”

He halts his prowl around the table.

I stop.

“You,” I breathe.

His hands grip the top of a chair as he looks down and arches his back. His eyes close with a sharp squint, and I can see his jaw muscles protruding through the sides of his face. As he looks up, that powerful posture is now replaced with the picture of a man defeated yet determined.

“Jillian, please. Be honest with me. Is Ainsley …” His eyes hold steady while he parts his mouth with an inhale, preparing himself for his world to fall apart or be put together. There’s a shaky vulnerability to his staggered words, the weight of them felt with every syllable. “Is Ainsley my daughter?”

There are many reasons why I’m a single mother. Choosing to bring a little girl into the world without a man in my life was not an easy decision. While the reasons are justified, there is nothing in this moment that can keep me from answering his question truthfully.

“Biologically, yes.”

My words hit him in the face like a freight train, and I can sense the overwhelming sensation of him being hit by it. He came here with a purpose. He saw the train coming, and yet the impact of the truth is evident.

Luke gasps so hard that his chest rises. He lays a hand over his heart, and the look on his face that was so sharp, so wild, and so annoyed just moments ago has been replaced. With two simple words, Luke’s demeanor has gone from hardened to softened, with eyes shiny and a throat that contracts with a hard swallow. His mouth is pursed, and his brows furrow as he looks down and processes the news.

“I have a daughter.”

“Your sperm contributed to her creation, yes.”

“She looks like my mom. I saw it in her as soon as we met. Same smile too. Everyone always said I favored my mom, but I never really saw it until I met Ainsley.”

“Believe me, I know the similarities,” I mumble.

“She’s so smart.”

“Her preschool said she’s very advanced for her age. You gave her the looks. I’ll take credit for the brains.”

“And her eyes. They’re so pretty.”

I’m taken aback by the proud-papa vibes he’s giving off. I nod as I fold my arms across my chest and take a step back.

“Is she …” he starts, his voice almost pained as his fist rises to his mouth. “I know I met her, but is she …” He swallows so hard that his Adam’s apple looks like it’s going to pop out of his neck. “Is she healthy?”

“Yes.”

His gaze flicks upward. They’re glassy with remorse, affection, and—dare I say—anger. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You know exactly why.”

“Do I?” His jaw juts out, his features like stone as he shoots me a hardened stare. “Pardon me if I can’t find a proper reason why a woman wouldn’t tell a man she brought his child into the world.”