Love’s head remained down the entire time. When Malcolm signaled to the cast to keep reading, her head shot up. When Zay reached the door, she slowly scooted her chair backward and moved toward the door after him. The cast watched as she exited the room but didn’t interrupt as Shai kept reading.
She softly shut the door behind them.
Zay was standing in the hallway with his back to her. His fists were clenched at his sides.
He felt Love stepping close, and he heard her arm gently reaching for his.
“Zay . . .”
He turned slowly. His voice came low and strained. “Tell me that wasn’t what I think it was.”
She hesitated for a moment and didn’t answer immediately.
He stared at her with glistening eyes. “So, . . . she’s mine?”
Tears pooled in hers. Her mouth parted once but then closed again. He could tell she was hesitant. Her non-response gave it away, but he still clenched as she spoke.
“Yes.”
The word hit him like a punch to his gut. His chest caved inward as if trying to protect something that had already shattered. A buzzing roared in his ears, louder than the silence between them. He staggered back a step, blinking hard, but the hallway didn’t refocus.
Fifteen years. Nine months of ultrasounds and doctor appointments. Fourteen birthdays. Fourteen years of ‘first days’ of day care and school.
Fourteen chances he never even knew he missed.
His hands trembled as they hovered near his sides, unsure whether to reach for her or push her away. His throat tightened with a heat that rose fast and hard. He felt rage, regret, and disbelief all wrapped around something deeper: grief.
Grief for the father he never got to be.
“All of these years, Princess?” he rasped, voice raw and rising. “Really?”
He shook his head slowly with his jaw clenched like it was the only thing holding him together.
“You looked me in my face all this time . . . and never said a word?”
She opened her mouth to answer, but he wasn’t ready to hear it. His world was spinning. Then, the movie, the music, not even the months of trying to grow felt like it was enough. The one thing that might’ve meant everything . . . was already fifteen years too late.
Zay took a full step back and placed his hands over his head. “You kept a baby—my daughter from me . . . for fifteen years?”
She opened her mouth and tried to explain, but he cut her off, his voice rising. “Fifteen years, Love. I missed everything. First steps. First words. School. All of it.”
“I wanted to tell you so many times,” she cried, “but you were on tour, flying across the world. You had just gotten signed. You were finally making it. Every time I thought about telling you, I’d hear you talk about how you didn’t want to be like your stepdad. How you never wanted to have kids ’cause you didn’t think you could be a father.”
“That don’t mean I wouldn’t have tried,” he snapped and clutched his heart. “You should’ve let me decide that.”
“I was eighteen, Zay, and alone. You were gone. You didn’t reach out either.”
“Because you told me never to contact you again!” Zay shouted. “I figured you moved on with your life and was happy. That’s all I ever wanted for you.”
Love shook her head as tears fell from her cheeks. “I was terrified. Yes, I made that choice. I chose to do it by myself. But don’t think for a second that it didn’t break me. I cried every time I looked at her, with your same eyes and nose . . . I wanted you there.”
He looked away, staring off at the far wall like it might hold the answers.
“What happened to the baby you had overseas?” she asked.
He blinked. “What?”
“You told me you got some girl pregnant in Amsterdam.”
