She shook her head quickly. “No. You always mattered. I was just too proud, too blind to admit it. But now… now he deserves the truth.” She took a shaky step closer. “He deserves to know he has a son.”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“No,” I said immediately. “You don’t get to decide that. Not after everything.”
“I’m not deciding,” she whispered. “I’m begging.”
I turned away, running a hand through my hair. My mind was racing—memories, anger, exhaustion, seventeen years of doing everything alone.
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