CHAPTER NINETEEN

AMELIA

The limousine glides through the wrought-iron gates, tires crunching on gravel as we wind up the tree-lined drive. The mansion looms ahead.

I glance out the window and marvel at the size of the estate. “Your parents live here? This is where you grew up?”

Nathan nods, his expression calm. “Yes, on both counts.”

I picture a young Nathan running through vast hallways and manicured gardens. It’s a world away from my modest upbringing, and the gulf between us has never felt wider.

“Daddy, me see!” Dylan strains against his car seat, his chubby fingers reaching for the window.

Nathan’s face softens, that look of awe spreading across his features—one I cherish every time Dylan calls him Dad. “We’ll let you out in a few minutes, buddy. I promise.”

The car stops, and Nathan helps Dylan from his seat. I linger, fingers trembling as I gather our things. I spot his parents descending the grand staircase through the tinted windows.

Nathan takes my hand and guides me forward.

“Mom, Dad, I don’t know if you remember Amelia.” His voice carries a slight edge.

“Hello,” I manage.

Their eyes, so like Nathan’s, fix on Dylan. He squirms in Nathan’s arms, shy under the gaze of these strangers.

Nathan clears his throat. “I’d like you to meet Dylan. Our son.”

A beat of silence follows, and Shirley’s face crumples and tears spill down her cheeks. “My goodness. I have a grandson.”

Sam wraps an arm around her and steadies her. Shirley composes herself, then steps forward, her smile warm and inviting.

“Hi, Dylan. I’m your grandmother. Would you like to come inside for a treat?”

Dylan’s brow furrows, deep in thought. He leans close to me. “I have two grandmas?”

“Yes, sweetheart,” I tell him, forcing a smile. “You’re a fortunate boy.”

“Great!” In an instant, his shyness vanishes, and he wriggles free from Nathan and reaches for Shirley. She scoops him up, her eyes shining as Dylan recounts our recent zoo trip in a somewhat garbled fashion.

We follow them inside, and I can’t help but gawk. Marble floors gleam beneath our feet, priceless artwork lines the walls, and a chandelier that must be worth more than my entire apartment sparkles overhead. It’s beautiful, intimidating, and so far removed from my world that I feel like an imposter.

“Amelia, why don’t you join them in the kitchen?” Sam’s voice is gentle, though a firmness suggests he has something to discuss with Nathan. “While I have a word with my son.”

Nathan kisses me and squeezes my hand before following his father down a long hallway. I watch them disappear, nerves tightening in my chest.

The sound of Dylan’s chatter guides me to the kitchen. Shirley has him perched on a barstool, a plate of cookies between them. She looks up as I enter, her smile warm.

“Sit, my dear, and tell me everything you can about this beautiful boy.”

For the next hour, I pour out Dylan’s life story—first words, first steps, favorite foods, and bedtime stories. Shirley’s expression softens with each anecdote, though a flicker of pain crosses her face when she realizes all the moments she’s missed. But her love grows with every story and picture I share.

When Nathan and Sam rejoin us, the air is charged. Nathan’s jaw is set, and his shoulders are rigid. Sam’s face is neutral, but his expression changes when he looks at Dylan and ruffles his hair. “We’ve missed so much.”

Shirley glances at Nathan, daggers flying at a hundred miles an hour.

Unable to take the tension anymore, I clear my throat. “I need to explain something.” The room falls silent, all eyes on me. My fingers curl around the edge of the countertop for support. “I was the one who ran. Nathan didn’t know about Dylan until a few days ago.”

Shirley reaches across the table and places her hand over mine. “Darling, Sam explained everything. We know it was Brad who caused all this.” Her gaze hardens as she turns to Nathan. “But he still should’ve gone after you and found out what was wrong.”

I blink, struggling to process the unexpected kindness. After years of guilt and shame, this moment feels surreal, almost too much to handle.

As the afternoon stretches on, Shirley and Sam continue to shower Dylan with attention and love. By the time we’re ready to leave, the sun has dipped below the horizon, and Dylan is fast asleep in Nathan’s arms.

Shirley hugs me and whispers promises of shopping trips and family dinners. Sam shakes my hand, his grip firm but reassuring.

As we settle into the car, Nathan exhales a long breath. “Well, that was––”

“They were nice,” I interrupt, still processing the day’s events.

He snorts and shakes his head. “They loved you. I’m the one in the doghouse.”

I laugh. “You can handle it, big guy. They adore Dylan so I think they’ll get over their problem with you pretty fast.”

“You think?”

“I know.”