Chapter 3 - THE SECRET NOAH HAD KEPT FROM ME
I closed the hotel door.
Vincent remained in the hallway.
Noah noticed.
“You can let him in.”
I stared at my son.
“This is not how I wanted you to find out.”
“No one ever wants people to find things out.”
That sounded painfully like something I would say.
Vincent entered but stayed near the door.
He did not sit.
He did not claim space.
Noah sat opposite me.
“How long have you suspected?” I asked.
“About six months.”
My heart sank.
“How?”
Noah pulled out his phone.
He opened a photograph from an article about a Chicago university fundraiser.
Vincent stood beside several donors.
“I saw this while researching scholarship foundations.”
He enlarged Vincent’s face.
“The eyes were weird.”
I almost laughed from nerves.
“Very scientific.”
“I’m a mathematician, not a geneticist.”
Vincent’s mouth twitched.
Noah looked at him.
Then the almost-smile disappeared.
“I searched his name.”
I closed my eyes.
There were things on the internet about Vincent Moretti I had spent eighteen years hoping Noah would never read.
“Did you find—”
“Enough.”
Noah’s voice was calm.
“I also found Mom’s old name.”
Claire Moretti.
There was no point pretending anymore.
He had reconstructed most of the story alone.
“Why didn’t you ask me?” I whispered.
“Because every time I asked about Chicago, you got quiet.”
That hurt.
“I thought maybe whatever happened was something you survived.”
Vincent looked at me.
Noah continued.
“I wasn’t going to make you relive it because I was curious.”
My son had been protecting me.
Just as I had spent eighteen years believing I was protecting him.
Vincent finally spoke.
“Noah, whatever happened between your mother and me is not your responsibility.”
Noah studied him.
“Are you my father?”
“I believe so.”
“But you don’t know.”
“No.”
Vincent swallowed.
“And I won’t ask you to believe anything until there’s proof.”
Noah nodded.
“DNA test.”
“If you want one.”
“I do.”
Vincent didn’t hesitate.
“Then we do it.”
Noah stood.
“I have one condition.”
Vincent’s eyebrows rose.
“What?”
“No lawyers deciding what this means.”
Silence.
“No press. No family trust. No Moretti people appearing at my school. I’m not becoming a problem your organization has to solve.”
Vincent’s face changed.
“You’re not a problem.”
“Then prove it.”
I had never been prouder of Noah.
Vincent nodded.
“Agreed.”
Noah walked toward the bedroom, then stopped.
“There’s something else.”
He looked at me.
“Mom, I found your divorce filings too.”
My stomach tightened.
“There was a document attached to the original court record.”
I frowned.
“What document?”
“A letter you wrote to Vincent.”
I stared at him.
“I never wrote him a letter.”
Noah opened the scanned record.
At the top was my forged signature.
The letter said I never wanted Vincent to contact me again.
May you like
And underneath it were four words I had never written:
THERE IS NO CHILD.
