Then, on a cool autumn afternoon, life resumed, in the cruelest way possible. I took Jacob to the downtown market. We were going home with a bag of apples when someone called me.
“Claire? »
I turned around and I froze. Mark stood there, holding Emily’s hand as if they were glued together, but her gaze wasn’t on her. He was fixed on Jacob, who was throwing a look at me behind me, squeezing his miniature truck against him.
I will never forget Mark’s expression: the way his cheeks have discolored, his jaw has clenched, his grip on Emily’s hand has weakened. He didn’t look at me like a man who sees his ex-wife. He stared at Jacob as if he was seeing a ghost.
That’s when I knew the past wasn’t over with me.
He followed us by calling me in a trembling voice. Emily’s gaze observed us stealthily, suspicion emerging. I tried to keep walking, refusing to let Jacob hear the tension, but Mark accelerated the pace and preceded us.
“Claire,” he stammered, “who… who is that? »
I looked him in the eye. “He is my son. »
Emily let out a little unbelieving laugh, but Mark stood still. His gaze remained fixed on Jacob, scrutinizing each familiar feature. His blonde hair. His dimples that only appeared when he smiled – just like Mark’s.
“Claire,” he murmured, barely breathing, “is he… to me? »
The air seemed rarer. Emily turned to him with his face discolored. “What do you mean by yours? »
I could have lied. I could have gone and left him haunted. But after four years of raising Jacob alone, I was tired of hiding. I lifted the chin. “Yes. He’s yours. »
Emily’s acute gasping breaks the market hubbub. Around us, people slow down to watch, but I only looked at Mark. His hands trembled, his face was broken down by disbelief.
“You left me,” I said softly but firmly. “I learned it after you left. I didn’t tell you because you had already made your choice. Why would I bring a baby into this chaos? »
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