Chapter 3
I had never seen Maya look so frightened.
Not when she broke her arm falling off her bicycle.
Not when she failed her first driving test.
Not even when she was ten and woke from a nightmare convinced something terrible had happened to me.
But now she stood at the top of our staircase holding an old photograph.
And I knew she had heard enough to understand that our family was hiding something.
I climbed the stairs slowly.
"Maya, sweetheart."
She stepped backward.
"Don't."
I stopped.
Her eyes were red.
"Please don't lie to me."
I felt my throat tighten.
"I won't."
She held out the photograph.
It showed Denise outside a small restaurant.
She was visibly pregnant.
A younger man stood beside her with one arm around her shoulders.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and smiling directly at the camera.
I had never seen him before.
"Who is he?" Maya asked.
I swallowed.
"Where did you find that?"
"In Mom's old storage box."
Denise appeared behind me.
The moment she saw the photograph, she covered her mouth.
"Oh, God."
Maya looked at her.
"Mom?"
Denise started crying.
My daughter stared at us.
Then she asked the question I had been dreading.
"Is he my real father?"
I felt something break inside me.
I stepped closer.
"Maya, listen carefully."
She shook her head.
"No. Just tell me."
I looked into her eyes.
"I am your father."
Her lips trembled.
"But is he?"
I took a breath.
"We don't know whether he's biologically related to you."
She stared.
The photograph slipped from her fingers.
It landed on the floor between us.
For a moment, she looked as though she might collapse.
I caught her shoulders.
She pushed my hands away.
"You knew?"
"No."
"How long have you known?"
"About ten minutes."
She turned toward Denise.
"You lied to Dad?"
Denise reached for her.
"Maya, baby—"
"Don't call me that!"
The words echoed through the hallway.
Denise froze.
I watched tears stream down my daughter's face.
"How could you do this?"
Denise began sobbing.
"I was scared."
Maya laughed bitterly.
"Of what? Telling the truth?"
I could see my wife trying to explain.
But nothing she said made the situation better.
Then Maya looked at me.
Her voice was barely audible.
"Are you going to leave us?"
I felt as though somebody had punched me in the chest.
I stepped forward.
"Never you."
She blinked.
"What?"
I took her hands.
"Maya, look at me."
She reluctantly raised her eyes.
"You are my daughter."
"But—"
"No matter what a test says. No matter what happened before you were born. Nothing changes the years we've had together."
Her face crumpled.
"Promise?"
I pulled her into my arms.
"I promise."
She held me so tightly I could barely breathe.
For a long time, we stayed that way.
Then Denise moved closer.
"Maya, I'm so sorry."
Our daughter stepped away from me.
She looked at her mother.
"I can't talk to you right now."
Denise began crying again.
Maya returned to her bedroom and closed the door.
I stood in the hallway.
The photograph lay near my feet.
I picked it up.
The man in the picture was smiling.
As though he had nothing to hide.
I turned toward Denise.
"His full name."
She wiped her face.
"Ethan James Walker."
"Where does he live?"
"I don't know exactly."
"Then where have you been sending the money?"
"To his bank account."
I stared at her.
"Do you understand how dangerous this could be?"
She nodded.
"He said he just wanted help."
"And now he's approaching our child."
She looked away.
I felt my jaw tighten.
"Give me your phone."
"Marcus—"
"Denise, I am not asking so I can punish you. I need to know what this man has been saying about Maya."
She hesitated.
Then she handed it over.
I sat downstairs and reviewed the messages with her present.
There were dozens.
At first, Ethan had sounded almost friendly.
He asked about Denise's marriage.
Her life.
Our daughter.
Then his tone changed.
He demanded money.
He threatened to reveal their past.
He mentioned school activities and locations.
And three days earlier, he had sent a message that made my hands go cold.
I SAW MAYA LEAVING SCHOOL TODAY. SHE LOOKS JUST LIKE YOU DID AT SEVENTEEN.
I looked at Denise.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
She covered her face.
"I thought I could handle it."
I continued reading.
Another message appeared.
TELL HER I'M HER FATHER OR I WILL.
I felt anger rise in my chest.
This wasn't simply about an old affair anymore.
Someone had been watching my daughter.
I took screenshots and saved copies of the messages.
Then I called my attorney, David Reynolds.
David had helped me establish my construction company fifteen years earlier.
He was practical, calm, and someone I trusted.
When I explained the situation, he listened without interrupting.
Then he asked one question.
"Has Ethan threatened Maya directly?"
"I don't know."
"Then find out, but don't interrogate her. And don't contact him yourself."
I looked at the messages.
"What should I do?"
"Preserve everything. We need to assess whether these communications amount to blackmail, harassment, or stalking. If Maya has been approached at school, report that immediately."
I nodded.
"And the paternity issue?"
David paused.
"Marcus, remember something important. Biology and legal parenthood are not always the same thing."
I closed my eyes.
"She's my daughter."
"I know."
"I raised her."
"I know that too."
He continued.
"Do not let Ethan pressure you into any decision. We can arrange a proper legal consultation and discuss testing only if it's appropriate and Maya wants answers."
I thanked him.
Then I went upstairs.
Maya was sitting on her bed.
Her phone lay beside her.
I knocked gently.
"Can I come in?"
She nodded.
I sat beside her.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then I asked, "Has a man named Ethan Walker contacted you?"
She looked at me.
"How did you know?"
My heart sank.
"What happened?"
She picked up her phone.
"He sent me messages on Instagram."
"When?"
"Two weeks ago."
I forced myself to stay calm.
"What did he say?"
"He said he was an old friend of Mom's."
She opened the conversation.
I read the messages.
At first, they looked harmless.
He had complimented her artwork.
Asked about school.
Mentioned her plans after graduation.
Then, four days earlier, he had written:
YOU DESERVE TO KNOW THE TRUTH ABOUT YOUR FAMILY.
Maya had replied:
WHAT TRUTH?
Ethan answered:
ASK YOUR MOTHER WHO SHE WAS WITH BEFORE MARCUS.
I stared at the screen.
My daughter began crying again.
"I thought he was just being weird."
I wrapped my arm around her.
"You did nothing wrong."
She leaned against me.
Then she whispered, "Dad, did Mom love him?"
I swallowed.
"I don't know."
"Does she still?"
"I don't know that either."
She looked down.
"I hate not knowing anything."
I understood.
My whole world had become a collection of unanswered questions.
That night, I slept in the guest room.
Denise stayed in our bedroom.
I couldn't bear to lie beside someone who had hidden such a painful secret.
At three in the morning, my phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
I opened the message.
A photograph appeared.
It showed Maya walking across her school parking lot.
The picture had been taken from inside a car.
Beneath it were six words.
WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT MY DAUGHTER.
My blood ran cold.
Then another message arrived.
YOU HAVE UNTIL FRIDAY, MARCUS.
I stared at the screen.
May you like
Friday was three days away.
And I knew the next decision I made could change my daughter's life forever.
