“The law might see it differently.”
She shakes her head. “Only if you’re siblings. And you’re not.”
I look at her, searching for the right way to say what comes next.
There isn’t one.
“I wish I was wrong about this.”
I look at Mum and feel my stomach knot.
“But I’m not.”
A breath.
“Tara and Dad were having an affair. Charlotte is Dad’s daughter.”
Something changes in her expression.
Not shock. Not sadness.
Resolve.
“I had my suspicions about the affair. Charlotte confirmed what I already knew.” A pause. “But Dane... you and Charlotte aren’t siblings.”
I stare at her.
“Because Mitchell isn’t your father.”
The words don't make sense.
Mitchell—the man I measured myself against without ever choosing to. The one I thought I was disappointing, or impressing, or falling short of in ways I couldn’t quite name. The man I built myself around, because that’s what you do when you think someone’s your father.
Take him out of the equation, and something shifts.
Not gone. Just… rearranged.
I look at her. At the woman who set that in place and left it there.
“Explain that to me.”
Something softens in her expression.
“I fell in love with someone else. You are his child.”
“Who?”
Her eyes flick toward Marcus, and I follow her gaze.
“You,” I say. “That’s why you look at me the way you do.”
For a second, nobody says anything. Marcus just stands there, looking at me.
Then, quietly, he says, “I look at you that way because I’m finally looking at my son. The son I thought I’d lost before I ever got the chance to know him.”
I stare at him. Then at Mum. Then back at him.
“You let another man raise me. Both of you.”
