Page 54 of Discretion at Its Finest

Reid

Eugene tore across the grass the second the game ended, legs wobbling in those tiny cleats, cheeks flushed red from the cold. But he didn’t run to her. He ran to me.

“Uncle Reid! Did you see? Did you see?” he panted.

I crouched before I even thought about it, ruffling his hair before I gave him a solid pat on the shoulder.

“Sure did, bud. You crushed it. No mercy.”

“NO MERCY!” he yelled furiously, catching the eyes of a few concerned parents.

I hid my smile as Genevieve came over.

“Okay, Lovebug, yes. No mercy,” she murmured, brushing a curl off his sweaty forehead. “Now, how about we get your hoodie on? It’s getting cold.”

He sniffled in defiance, puffing his little cheeks as he blew out a resigned huff. “Don’t wanna, Mom. I’m not cold.”

She crouched beside him, holding it out to him like an offering. “You’ll get sick,” she said gently. “Please?”

I bit the inside of my cheek, because he was shivering and because watching the two of them negotiate was as cute as it wasinfuriating. He glanced over to me, probably hoping I’d get him out of his idea of a major predicament. But I raised an eyebrow. “Gotta listen to Mom, bud.”

He sighed dramatically and lifted his arms. She slid the hoodie over his head, tugging it down softly, smoothing the wrinkles, motherhood in the smallest, simplest movements. I’d forgotten how natural she looked, how nurturing and effortless this was for her. How easily she slipped into her role.

We started toward the parking lot, her hand wrapped around Eugene’s, his tiny legs bouncing to keep up. He swung her arm once, then twice, giggling with ease.

Then, without warning, he reached out and grabbed my hand too.

His fingers curled around one of mine with complete trust and innocence. And suddenly we were walking in rhythm. One child, two adults, our footsteps in sync.

Something about this, about us, felt natural. For a second, I could’ve sworn this was where I was meant to be. The thought hit me so hard I nearly stumbled.

And then that same thought turned on me. How the hell could something feel so right when it was built on a lie? When it wasn’t even supposed to be?

My son.

He swung our hands again, giggling and oblivious as my jaw locked so tight it hurt.

Three years.

Three years I didn’t know him. She let me think he was someone else’s. Every scraped knee, every fever, every first word… I wasn’t there. She robbed me of all of it.

And yet… I couldn’t pull my hand away. He was so happy. Even without the man who promised him the world and couldn’t even show up.

It was a life I should’ve had. A family I should’ve kept. A child who should’ve known me from the moment he was born.

My throat tightened. When the official paternity results arrived, I’d stared at the paper for so long my vision blurred. I’d reread the percentages, the genetic markers, the confirmation stamped in black ink until the page crumpled in my fist.

There was no mistake or ambiguity. Eugene was mine. And Genevieve never told me.

She didn’t give me the choice to stay or fight. Didn’t even give me the dignity of knowing I had a son. But here he was. And fuck… here I was right beside him.

Genevieve finally glanced over, catching the sight of our hands linked, Eugene swinging between us, laughing. Then her eyes met mine.

Filled with guilt. Maybe a hint of fear and regret.

She should regret it. Because now that I knew the truth, now that I had him… there was no version of this story where I left. And I wasn’t letting her slip away from me again.

Eugene’s laughter was still echoing in my head by the time I left them at the car.