Page 568 of End Game

Mom almost died when I was born.

Nobody ever told me all the details because my family treats medical history like classified information once the emergency ends.

I know there was bleeding and a doctor telling them another pregnancy wasn't safe.

After that, there was just me.

My biological father stayed until he didn't.

Aunt Rachel had enough children for both households.

Mom babysat cousins.

Hosted sleepovers.

Filled Grandma's house and later ours with other people's kids whenever she could.

For years, family meant Mom and Grandma and whichever aunties and cousins were around that night.

Then Matthew showed up.

He didn't have children of his own.

Never tried to replace anyone.

He just stayed.

Eventually, there were three of us again.

Me.

Mom.

Dad.

Their only son, even if only one of them made me.

“I know,” I say.

Mom's face crumples. “My only child.”

Dad reaches for her hand.

She grips it.

“And you're telling us you live with men and a married woman and—”

“Yes.”

“Do you even want children?”

I stare at her. “I don't know.”

She cries harder.

Dad's gaze hardens again. “This is selfish.”

That lands cleanly.