Alice Turner
Results:
In all analyzed PCR systems, Nathan Duran does not show the genetic markers which have to be present for the biological father of the child Alice Turner. The biostatistical analysis of the PCR systems was performed according to the method of Essen-Möller. The probability of Nathan Duran being the biological father of Alice Turner is < 0.0000001%.
Conclusion
Based on our analysis, it is practically proven that Nathan Duran isNOTthe biological father of the child Alice Turner.
I couldn’t bear to look at Nate. But when I finally turned to him, his face was mournful as a silent film star who’s found out her true love has died on the Western Front.
A sudden fit of church giggles seized me.
Nate stared at me, baffled and hurt. Extravagant tears rolled down his cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” I finally managed. “I’m laughing because... because I must have watchedThe Parent Traptoo many times. I started thinking ridiculous coincidences could really happen and then I cooked up this... this whole idea.” And then I wasn’t just laughing. I was sobbing too. “I really wanted it.”
“I guess we both did,” he said, wrapping his arms around me.
I understood now. I’d wanted it so very badly I’d fabricated this whole crazy scenario. And not only because it would’ve given meaning to every terrible thing I’d been through, but because it would’ve given my girls something I’d never let myself hope they’d have. A bigger family.
Nate was rubbing small soothing circles on my back. I kept crying there, in that safe refuge. I may have even wiped my snotty nose on his T-shirt. “Be excellent to each other,” I mumbled into his chest, for some stupid reason I didn’t understand, except that it was always sound advice.
“Are you quotingBill & Ted’s?” he said.
I shrugged. “Just because you said ‘most excellent.’”
“Fair, I did say that,” he said. “So maybe I’ll never be the kids’ biological father. So what? You’re right. We can still all be most excellent to each other. Have I ever told you about my stepdad?”
I shook my head into his chest.
“He raised me and Lucia from the time I was eight and she was ten. He’s the best bonus dad. Not to be presumptuous. But it’s possible.” He pushed me away but only far enough so he could look down into my eyes. “Each one of us gets to decide who and what our family is, that’s all I’m saying.”
I could raise my kids on my own. I knew I could. I’d been doing a pretty damn good job of it for over seven years. But this whole fantasy I’d concocted was forcing me to confront the idea that maybe, deep down, I wanted to be open to the possibility of a worthy partner raising them with me. I pushed down my annoying worry that it might not be a great idea to start a relationship with countless lies of omission. And for one last time, I wished I knew who actually killed Connor. But it was time to accept there were some things that would always remain a mystery. It needed to be enough to know—definitively—that it hadn’t been me.
“Agreed,” I said. “So we can start slow and maybe date and you can hang with me and the kids sometimes and we can see where it goes.”
“But it doesn’t have to bethatslow, right?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Like maybe we could start slow and get faster and faster and faster?” I said.
Nate laughed. And because there is no sexier sound than a man busting up at one of my jokes, I grabbed him by the hand and pulled him toward my bedroom.
Epilogue
A Saturday in Early June
With my first check from HBO and my steady stream of Substack cash, I finally had more than enough money to move back to LA. Instead, I’d paid off my credit cards and two of the mortgages on my mom’s duplex, which felt like an amends to her. My one splurge was on an outdoor projector and speakers so we could host outdoor movie nights in our backyard.
Now the twins were begging me to help them spread blankets and set up camping chairs. Nate was pinning a sheet to the side of the shed to use as a projector screen. He looked adorable in the three-quarter-length pants he’d bought for wearing to the climbing gym, where he was taking classes with Phoebe and Alice.
