“You lied to me for ten years.” My blood ran cold as my billionaire boss threw a folder onto my desk. A DNA test. My hands started shaking.
“I can explain…”
He slammed both hands on my desk and leaned closer.
“Explain what?” His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Why my son spent 10 years calling another man ‘Dad’?”
CHAPTER 1: MOTHER AND SON
IVY’S POV
“Mom, if Dad knew about me… would he want me?”
My hand froze above the frying pan, the spatula hovering over a half-cooked pancake. For a moment, I just stared at the bubbling batter as if it suddenly demanded all of my attention.
Leroy sat at the kitchen table in his school uniform, his backpack resting beside his chair, ready for elementary school. He asked it so casually, like he was asking what we were having for breakfast, but his eyes stayed fixed on me, watching, waiting.
I slowly let out a breath.
“You ask very complicated questions for a Tuesday morning, baby.”
He frowned and started playing with the zipper of his backpack.
“We need to prepare a family tree for Friday,” he said. “Everyone in class already knows what they’re going to write. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to put.”
I swallowed and forced myself to focus on flipping the pancake before it burned.
“You can put Aunt Emily,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “And old Vanessa too. She practically helps raise you anyway.”
Vanessa had been watching Leroy for years whenever work kept me late. At this point, she felt less like a babysitter and more like family.
“Mom.”
Just one word, but the way he said it made my chest tighten. I sighed and finally turned to look at him.
God.
Sometimes it still hit me so hard it felt almost unfair. My son looked exactly like his father. The same dark hair. The same sharp eyes. The same stubborn jaw that somehow already looked defined even on a ten-year-old boy.
One accidental one-night stand with a stranger whose name I barely knew, and ten years later I was standing in my kitchen making pancakes for the child we created.
Thankfully, Leroy had inherited more than just his father’s face. He had inherited my softness too, my kindness, and that gentle heart.
The truth was, I knew almost nothing about the man who fathered my son. Sometimes I wondered if that made me stupid.
All I had was a face I remembered too clearly. That night, I hadn’t even told him my real name. I told him my name was Bethany, so even if he had wanted to look for me afterward, he wouldn’t have found Ivy Rivera. And if I were being honest, after weeks of panic and a few desperate attempts to search for a man I barely knew, I had realized something painfully obvious: you couldn’t find someone when you had almost nothing to search for.
“Do you think he would like me?” Leroy asked quietly, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I walked over to him and brushed a strand of dark hair away from his forehead. “I think anyone would be lucky to know you, Leroy.”
His lips pressed into a small line. That wasn’t the answer he wanted, and we both knew it.
I gently squeezed his shoulder and slid the plate closer to him. “Okay, mister, eat faster or we’re going to be late for school. I promise I’ll try to answer all your questions later, alright?”
Leroy frowned but finally nodded and stabbed a piece of pancake with more attitude than necessary.
A few minutes later, we were already in the car, driving through the usual morning traffic. The city was fully awake now, with impatient horns, crowded sidewalks, and people rushing through crosswalks with coffee in hand. Leroy stayed quiet for most of the drive, which was unusual for him.
Then, as we stopped at a red light, he spoke again.
“Are we going somewhere tonight? Like… out. Just us.”
My chest softened at that.
“Of course. I’ll pick you up after art class, and we’ll go somewhere nice.”
He finally turned to me, looking a little more like himself. “Really? Can we get milkshakes too?”
A small laugh escaped me. “Sure, milkshakes too.”
“And comic books?”
I shot him a look. “Don’t push your luck, mister.”
That earned the smallest grin from him, and relief loosened something tight in my chest.
By the time we pulled up in front of his school, Leroy seemed a little more like himself again. I parked near the entrance and turned toward him just as he grabbed his backpack from the back seat.
“Have a good day, baby,” I said and, before he could escape, leaned over to kiss his cheek. Leroy instantly groaned and wiped his face with his sleeve.
“Mom,” he muttered, glancing toward the school gates where other kids were already gathering, “don’t kiss me in front of my friends.”
A laugh escaped me. “Oh, wow. Look at you. Too grown-up for your mother now?”
“I’m serious,” he said, though the slight redness creeping up his ears made me smile even more.
I shook my head, still amused. God, when had he gotten so big? It felt like yesterday he was clinging to my leg, crying because he didn’t want me to leave him at daycare, and now he was worried about looking uncool in front of his classmates.
“Fine,” I said, lifting both hands in surrender. “No more kisses in front of your friends. Deal?”
“Deal.”
He pushed the door open, then paused and looked back at me. “Don’t forget. Tonight.”
My expression softened. “I won’t.”
That seemed to satisfy him. He gave me a small nod, swung his backpack over one shoulder, and jogged toward the school entrance. I stayed there for a few seconds, watching him disappear into the crowd of children, unable to stop the small smile tugging at my lips.
My baby really wasn’t a baby anymore.
Just as I reached for the gear shift, my phone started ringing. I glanced at the screen and frowned.
Arthur.
What did he want?
Arthur Young owned the photography studio where I worked, and unlike most bosses, he actually respected boundaries. He knew I had taken the day off, which meant if he was calling me now, something had gone wrong. A strange unease settled in my stomach as I accepted the call.
“Arthur?”
“Ivy,” he said, slightly out of breath, “sorry for bothering you, but I need you. Urgently.”
I straightened in my seat. “What happened?”
“Ace Clark is getting engaged. They need a photographer for the engagement ceremony, and they need one right now.”
I frowned. The name meant nothing to me.
“Arthur, I’m off today—”
“I know,” he said quickly. “But this is Ace freaking Clark, Ivy. Do you understand how important that is? We cannot mess this up. I need you here.”
“Arthur—”
“I’ll pay you.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “That’s not the—”
“Triple.”
I went silent. Arthur exhaled sharply on the other end. “I’ll pay you three times your usual rate, Ivy. Just get here.”
Before I could answer, the line went dead.
“You lied to me for ten years.” My blood ran cold as my billionaire boss threw a folder onto my desk. A DNA test. My hands started shaking.
“I can explain…”
He slammed both hands on my desk and leaned closer.
“Explain what?” His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Why my son spent 10 years calling another man ‘Dad’?”
CHAPTER 1: MOTHER AND SON
IVY’S POV
“Mom, if Dad knew about me… would he want me?”
My hand froze above the frying pan, the spatula hovering over a half-cooked pancake. For a moment, I just stared at the bubbling batter as if it suddenly demanded all of my attention.
Leroy sat at the kitchen table in his school uniform, his backpack resting beside his chair, ready for elementary school. He asked it so casually, like he was asking what we were having for breakfast, but his eyes stayed fixed on me, watching, waiting.
I slowly let out a breath.
“You ask very complicated questions for a Tuesday morning, baby.”
He frowned and started playing with the zipper of his backpack.
“We need to prepare a family tree for Friday,” he said. “Everyone in class already knows what they’re going to write. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to put.”
I swallowed and forced myself to focus on flipping the pancake before it burned.
“You can put Aunt Emily,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “And old Vanessa too. She practically helps raise you anyway.”
Vanessa had been watching Leroy for years whenever work kept me late. At this point, she felt less like a babysitter and more like family.
“Mom.”
Just one word, but the way he said it made my chest tighten. I sighed and finally turned to look at him.
God.
Sometimes it still hit me so hard it felt almost unfair. My son looked exactly like his father. The same dark hair. The same sharp eyes. The same stubborn jaw that somehow already looked defined even on a ten-year-old boy.
One accidental one-night stand with a stranger whose name I barely knew, and ten years later I was standing in my kitchen making pancakes for the child we created.
Thankfully, Leroy had inherited more than just his father’s face. He had inherited my softness too, my kindness, and that gentle heart.
The truth was, I knew almost nothing about the man who fathered my son. Sometimes I wondered if that made me stupid.
All I had was a face I remembered too clearly. That night, I hadn’t even told him my real name. I told him my name was Bethany, so even if he had wanted to look for me afterward, he wouldn’t have found Ivy Rivera. And if I were being honest, after weeks of panic and a few desperate attempts to search for a man I barely knew, I had realized something painfully obvious: you couldn’t find someone when you had almost nothing to search for.
“Do you think he would like me?” Leroy asked quietly, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I walked over to him and brushed a strand of dark hair away from his forehead. “I think anyone would be lucky to know you, Leroy.”
His lips pressed into a small line. That wasn’t the answer he wanted, and we both knew it.
I gently squeezed his shoulder and slid the plate closer to him. “Okay, mister, eat faster or we’re going to be late for school. I promise I’ll try to answer all your questions later, alright?”
Leroy frowned but finally nodded and stabbed a piece of pancake with more attitude than necessary.
A few minutes later, we were already in the car, driving through the usual morning traffic. The city was fully awake now, with impatient horns, crowded sidewalks, and people rushing through crosswalks with coffee in hand. Leroy stayed quiet for most of the drive, which was unusual for him.
Then, as we stopped at a red light, he spoke again.
“Are we going somewhere tonight? Like… out. Just us.”
My chest softened at that.
“Of course. I’ll pick you up after art class, and we’ll go somewhere nice.”
He finally turned to me, looking a little more like himself. “Really? Can we get milkshakes too?”
A small laugh escaped me. “Sure, milkshakes too.”
“And comic books?”
I shot him a look. “Don’t push your luck, mister.”
That earned the smallest grin from him, and relief loosened something tight in my chest.
By the time we pulled up in front of his school, Leroy seemed a little more like himself again. I parked near the entrance and turned toward him just as he grabbed his backpack from the back seat.
“Have a good day, baby,” I said and, before he could escape, leaned over to kiss his cheek. Leroy instantly groaned and wiped his face with his sleeve.
“Mom,” he muttered, glancing toward the school gates where other kids were already gathering, “don’t kiss me in front of my friends.”
A laugh escaped me. “Oh, wow. Look at you. Too grown-up for your mother now?”
“I’m serious,” he said, though the slight redness creeping up his ears made me smile even more.
I shook my head, still amused. God, when had he gotten so big? It felt like yesterday he was clinging to my leg, crying because he didn’t want me to leave him at daycare, and now he was worried about looking uncool in front of his classmates.
“Fine,” I said, lifting both hands in surrender. “No more kisses in front of your friends. Deal?”
“Deal.”
He pushed the door open, then paused and looked back at me. “Don’t forget. Tonight.”
My expression softened. “I won’t.”
That seemed to satisfy him. He gave me a small nod, swung his backpack over one shoulder, and jogged toward the school entrance. I stayed there for a few seconds, watching him disappear into the crowd of children, unable to stop the small smile tugging at my lips.
My baby really wasn’t a baby anymore.
Just as I reached for the gear shift, my phone started ringing. I glanced at the screen and frowned.
Arthur.
What did he want?
Arthur Young owned the photography studio where I worked, and unlike most bosses, he actually respected boundaries. He knew I had taken the day off, which meant if he was calling me now, something had gone wrong. A strange unease settled in my stomach as I accepted the call.
“Arthur?”
“Ivy,” he said, slightly out of breath, “sorry for bothering you, but I need you. Urgently.”
I straightened in my seat. “What happened?”
“Ace Clark is getting engaged. They need a photographer for the engagement ceremony, and they need one right now.”
I frowned. The name meant nothing to me.
“Arthur, I’m off today—”
“I know,” he said quickly. “But this is Ace freaking Clark, Ivy. Do you understand how important that is? We cannot mess this up. I need you here.”
“Arthur—”
“I’ll pay you.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “That’s not the—”
“Triple.”
I went silent. Arthur exhaled sharply on the other end. “I’ll pay you three times your usual rate, Ivy. Just get here.”
Before I could answer, the line went dead.
“You lied to me for ten years.” My blood ran cold as my billionaire boss threw a folder onto my desk. A DNA test. My hands started shaking.
“I can explain…”
He slammed both hands on my desk and leaned closer.
“Explain what?” His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Why my son spent 10 years calling another man ‘Dad’?”
CHAPTER 1: MOTHER AND SON
IVY’S POV
“Mom, if Dad knew about me… would he want me?”
My hand froze above the frying pan, the spatula hovering over a half-cooked pancake. For a moment, I just stared at the bubbling batter as if it suddenly demanded all of my attention.
Leroy sat at the kitchen table in his school uniform, his backpack resting beside his chair, ready for elementary school. He asked it so casually, like he was asking what we were having for breakfast, but his eyes stayed fixed on me, watching, waiting.
I slowly let out a breath.
“You ask very complicated questions for a Tuesday morning, baby.”
He frowned and started playing with the zipper of his backpack.
“We need to prepare a family tree for Friday,” he said. “Everyone in class already knows what they’re going to write. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to put.”
I swallowed and forced myself to focus on flipping the pancake before it burned.
“You can put Aunt Emily,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “And old Vanessa too. She practically helps raise you anyway.”
Vanessa had been watching Leroy for years whenever work kept me late. At this point, she felt less like a babysitter and more like family.
“Mom.”
Just one word, but the way he said it made my chest tighten. I sighed and finally turned to look at him.
God.
Sometimes it still hit me so hard it felt almost unfair. My son looked exactly like his father. The same dark hair. The same sharp eyes. The same stubborn jaw that somehow already looked defined even on a ten-year-old boy.
One accidental one-night stand with a stranger whose name I barely knew, and ten years later I was standing in my kitchen making pancakes for the child we created.
Thankfully, Leroy had inherited more than just his father’s face. He had inherited my softness too, my kindness, and that gentle heart.
The truth was, I knew almost nothing about the man who fathered my son. Sometimes I wondered if that made me stupid.
All I had was a face I remembered too clearly. That night, I hadn’t even told him my real name. I told him my name was Bethany, so even if he had wanted to look for me afterward, he wouldn’t have found Ivy Rivera. And if I were being honest, after weeks of panic and a few desperate attempts to search for a man I barely knew, I had realized something painfully obvious: you couldn’t find someone when you had almost nothing to search for.
“Do you think he would like me?” Leroy asked quietly, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I walked over to him and brushed a strand of dark hair away from his forehead. “I think anyone would be lucky to know you, Leroy.”
His lips pressed into a small line. That wasn’t the answer he wanted, and we both knew it.
I gently squeezed his shoulder and slid the plate closer to him. “Okay, mister, eat faster or we’re going to be late for school. I promise I’ll try to answer all your questions later, alright?”
Leroy frowned but finally nodded and stabbed a piece of pancake with more attitude than necessary.
A few minutes later, we were already in the car, driving through the usual morning traffic. The city was fully awake now, with impatient horns, crowded sidewalks, and people rushing through crosswalks with coffee in hand. Leroy stayed quiet for most of the drive, which was unusual for him.
Then, as we stopped at a red light, he spoke again.
“Are we going somewhere tonight? Like… out. Just us.”
My chest softened at that.
“Of course. I’ll pick you up after art class, and we’ll go somewhere nice.”
He finally turned to me, looking a little more like himself. “Really? Can we get milkshakes too?”
A small laugh escaped me. “Sure, milkshakes too.”
“And comic books?”
I shot him a look. “Don’t push your luck, mister.”
That earned the smallest grin from him, and relief loosened something tight in my chest.
By the time we pulled up in front of his school, Leroy seemed a little more like himself again. I parked near the entrance and turned toward him just as he grabbed his backpack from the back seat.
“Have a good day, baby,” I said and, before he could escape, leaned over to kiss his cheek. Leroy instantly groaned and wiped his face with his sleeve.
“Mom,” he muttered, glancing toward the school gates where other kids were already gathering, “don’t kiss me in front of my friends.”
A laugh escaped me. “Oh, wow. Look at you. Too grown-up for your mother now?”
“I’m serious,” he said, though the slight redness creeping up his ears made me smile even more.
I shook my head, still amused. God, when had he gotten so big? It felt like yesterday he was clinging to my leg, crying because he didn’t want me to leave him at daycare, and now he was worried about looking uncool in front of his classmates.
“Fine,” I said, lifting both hands in surrender. “No more kisses in front of your friends. Deal?”
“Deal.”
He pushed the door open, then paused and looked back at me. “Don’t forget. Tonight.”
My expression softened. “I won’t.”
That seemed to satisfy him. He gave me a small nod, swung his backpack over one shoulder, and jogged toward the school entrance. I stayed there for a few seconds, watching him disappear into the crowd of children, unable to stop the small smile tugging at my lips.
My baby really wasn’t a baby anymore.
Just as I reached for the gear shift, my phone started ringing. I glanced at the screen and frowned.
Arthur.
What did he want?
Arthur Young owned the photography studio where I worked, and unlike most bosses, he actually respected boundaries. He knew I had taken the day off, which meant if he was calling me now, something had gone wrong. A strange unease settled in my stomach as I accepted the call.
“Arthur?”
“Ivy,” he said, slightly out of breath, “sorry for bothering you, but I need you. Urgently.”
I straightened in my seat. “What happened?”
“Ace Clark is getting engaged. They need a photographer for the engagement ceremony, and they need one right now.”
I frowned. The name meant nothing to me.
“Arthur, I’m off today—”
“I know,” he said quickly. “But this is Ace freaking Clark, Ivy. Do you understand how important that is? We cannot mess this up. I need you here.”
“Arthur—”
“I’ll pay you.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “That’s not the—”
“Triple.”
I went silent. Arthur exhaled sharply on the other end. “I’ll pay you three times your usual rate, Ivy. Just get here.”
Before I could answer, the line went dead.
“You lied to me for ten years.” My blood ran cold as my billionaire boss threw a folder onto my desk. A DNA test. My hands started shaking.
“I can explain…”
He slammed both hands on my desk and leaned closer.
“Explain what?” His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Why my son spent 10 years calling another man ‘Dad’?”
CHAPTER 1: MOTHER AND SON
IVY’S POV
“Mom, if Dad knew about me… would he want me?”
My hand froze above the frying pan, the spatula hovering over a half-cooked pancake. For a moment, I just stared at the bubbling batter as if it suddenly demanded all of my attention.
Leroy sat at the kitchen table in his school uniform, his backpack resting beside his chair, ready for elementary school. He asked it so casually, like he was asking what we were having for breakfast, but his eyes stayed fixed on me, watching, waiting.
I slowly let out a breath.
“You ask very complicated questions for a Tuesday morning, baby.”
He frowned and started playing with the zipper of his backpack.
“We need to prepare a family tree for Friday,” he said. “Everyone in class already knows what they’re going to write. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to put.”
I swallowed and forced myself to focus on flipping the pancake before it burned.
“You can put Aunt Emily,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “And old Vanessa too. She practically helps raise you anyway.”
Vanessa had been watching Leroy for years whenever work kept me late. At this point, she felt less like a babysitter and more like family.
“Mom.”
Just one word, but the way he said it made my chest tighten. I sighed and finally turned to look at him.
God.
Sometimes it still hit me so hard it felt almost unfair. My son looked exactly like his father. The same dark hair. The same sharp eyes. The same stubborn jaw that somehow already looked defined even on a ten-year-old boy.
One accidental one-night stand with a stranger whose name I barely knew, and ten years later I was standing in my kitchen making pancakes for the child we created.
Thankfully, Leroy had inherited more than just his father’s face. He had inherited my softness too, my kindness, and that gentle heart.
The truth was, I knew almost nothing about the man who fathered my son. Sometimes I wondered if that made me stupid.
All I had was a face I remembered too clearly. That night, I hadn’t even told him my real name. I told him my name was Bethany, so even if he had wanted to look for me afterward, he wouldn’t have found Ivy Rivera. And if I were being honest, after weeks of panic and a few desperate attempts to search for a man I barely knew, I had realized something painfully obvious: you couldn’t find someone when you had almost nothing to search for.
“Do you think he would like me?” Leroy asked quietly, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I walked over to him and brushed a strand of dark hair away from his forehead. “I think anyone would be lucky to know you, Leroy.”
His lips pressed into a small line. That wasn’t the answer he wanted, and we both knew it.
I gently squeezed his shoulder and slid the plate closer to him. “Okay, mister, eat faster or we’re going to be late for school. I promise I’ll try to answer all your questions later, alright?”
Leroy frowned but finally nodded and stabbed a piece of pancake with more attitude than necessary.
A few minutes later, we were already in the car, driving through the usual morning traffic. The city was fully awake now, with impatient horns, crowded sidewalks, and people rushing through crosswalks with coffee in hand. Leroy stayed quiet for most of the drive, which was unusual for him.
Then, as we stopped at a red light, he spoke again.
“Are we going somewhere tonight? Like… out. Just us.”
My chest softened at that.
“Of course. I’ll pick you up after art class, and we’ll go somewhere nice.”
He finally turned to me, looking a little more like himself. “Really? Can we get milkshakes too?”
A small laugh escaped me. “Sure, milkshakes too.”
“And comic books?”
I shot him a look. “Don’t push your luck, mister.”
That earned the smallest grin from him, and relief loosened something tight in my chest.
By the time we pulled up in front of his school, Leroy seemed a little more like himself again. I parked near the entrance and turned toward him just as he grabbed his backpack from the back seat.
“Have a good day, baby,” I said and, before he could escape, leaned over to kiss his cheek. Leroy instantly groaned and wiped his face with his sleeve.
“Mom,” he muttered, glancing toward the school gates where other kids were already gathering, “don’t kiss me in front of my friends.”
A laugh escaped me. “Oh, wow. Look at you. Too grown-up for your mother now?”
“I’m serious,” he said, though the slight redness creeping up his ears made me smile even more.
I shook my head, still amused. God, when had he gotten so big? It felt like yesterday he was clinging to my leg, crying because he didn’t want me to leave him at daycare, and now he was worried about looking uncool in front of his classmates.
“Fine,” I said, lifting both hands in surrender. “No more kisses in front of your friends. Deal?”
“Deal.”
He pushed the door open, then paused and looked back at me. “Don’t forget. Tonight.”
My expression softened. “I won’t.”
That seemed to satisfy him. He gave me a small nod, swung his backpack over one shoulder, and jogged toward the school entrance. I stayed there for a few seconds, watching him disappear into the crowd of children, unable to stop the small smile tugging at my lips.
My baby really wasn’t a baby anymore.
Just as I reached for the gear shift, my phone started ringing. I glanced at the screen and frowned.
Arthur.
What did he want?
Arthur Young owned the photography studio where I worked, and unlike most bosses, he actually respected boundaries. He knew I had taken the day off, which meant if he was calling me now, something had gone wrong. A strange unease settled in my stomach as I accepted the call.
“Arthur?”
“Ivy,” he said, slightly out of breath, “sorry for bothering you, but I need you. Urgently.”
I straightened in my seat. “What happened?”
“Ace Clark is getting engaged. They need a photographer for the engagement ceremony, and they need one right now.”
I frowned. The name meant nothing to me.
“Arthur, I’m off today—”
“I know,” he said quickly. “But this is Ace freaking Clark, Ivy. Do you understand how important that is? We cannot mess this up. I need you here.”
“Arthur—”
“I’ll pay you.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “That’s not the—”
“Triple.”
I went silent. Arthur exhaled sharply on the other end. “I’ll pay you three times your usual rate, Ivy. Just get here.”
Before I could answer, the line went dead.
“You lied to me for ten years.” My blood ran cold as my billionaire boss threw a folder onto my desk. A DNA test. My hands started shaking.
“I can explain…”
He slammed both hands on my desk and leaned closer.
“Explain what?” His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Why my son spent 10 years calling another man ‘Dad’?”
CHAPTER 1: MOTHER AND SON
IVY’S POV
“Mom, if Dad knew about me… would he want me?”
My hand froze above the frying pan, the spatula hovering over a half-cooked pancake. For a moment, I just stared at the bubbling batter as if it suddenly demanded all of my attention.
Leroy sat at the kitchen table in his school uniform, his backpack resting beside his chair, ready for elementary school. He asked it so casually, like he was asking what we were having for breakfast, but his eyes stayed fixed on me, watching, waiting.
I slowly let out a breath.
“You ask very complicated questions for a Tuesday morning, baby.”
He frowned and started playing with the zipper of his backpack.
“We need to prepare a family tree for Friday,” he said. “Everyone in class already knows what they’re going to write. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to put.”
I swallowed and forced myself to focus on flipping the pancake before it burned.
“You can put Aunt Emily,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “And old Vanessa too. She practically helps raise you anyway.”
Vanessa had been watching Leroy for years whenever work kept me late. At this point, she felt less like a babysitter and more like family.
“Mom.”
Just one word, but the way he said it made my chest tighten. I sighed and finally turned to look at him.
God.
Sometimes it still hit me so hard it felt almost unfair. My son looked exactly like his father. The same dark hair. The same sharp eyes. The same stubborn jaw that somehow already looked defined even on a ten-year-old boy.
One accidental one-night stand with a stranger whose name I barely knew, and ten years later I was standing in my kitchen making pancakes for the child we created.
Thankfully, Leroy had inherited more than just his father’s face. He had inherited my softness too, my kindness, and that gentle heart.
The truth was, I knew almost nothing about the man who fathered my son. Sometimes I wondered if that made me stupid.
All I had was a face I remembered too clearly. That night, I hadn’t even told him my real name. I told him my name was Bethany, so even if he had wanted to look for me afterward, he wouldn’t have found Ivy Rivera. And if I were being honest, after weeks of panic and a few desperate attempts to search for a man I barely knew, I had realized something painfully obvious: you couldn’t find someone when you had almost nothing to search for.
“Do you think he would like me?” Leroy asked quietly, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I walked over to him and brushed a strand of dark hair away from his forehead. “I think anyone would be lucky to know you, Leroy.”
His lips pressed into a small line. That wasn’t the answer he wanted, and we both knew it.
I gently squeezed his shoulder and slid the plate closer to him. “Okay, mister, eat faster or we’re going to be late for school. I promise I’ll try to answer all your questions later, alright?”
Leroy frowned but finally nodded and stabbed a piece of pancake with more attitude than necessary.
A few minutes later, we were already in the car, driving through the usual morning traffic. The city was fully awake now, with impatient horns, crowded sidewalks, and people rushing through crosswalks with coffee in hand. Leroy stayed quiet for most of the drive, which was unusual for him.
Then, as we stopped at a red light, he spoke again.
“Are we going somewhere tonight? Like… out. Just us.”
My chest softened at that.
“Of course. I’ll pick you up after art class, and we’ll go somewhere nice.”
He finally turned to me, looking a little more like himself. “Really? Can we get milkshakes too?”
A small laugh escaped me. “Sure, milkshakes too.”
“And comic books?”
I shot him a look. “Don’t push your luck, mister.”
That earned the smallest grin from him, and relief loosened something tight in my chest.
By the time we pulled up in front of his school, Leroy seemed a little more like himself again. I parked near the entrance and turned toward him just as he grabbed his backpack from the back seat.
“Have a good day, baby,” I said and, before he could escape, leaned over to kiss his cheek. Leroy instantly groaned and wiped his face with his sleeve.
“Mom,” he muttered, glancing toward the school gates where other kids were already gathering, “don’t kiss me in front of my friends.”
A laugh escaped me. “Oh, wow. Look at you. Too grown-up for your mother now?”
“I’m serious,” he said, though the slight redness creeping up his ears made me smile even more.
I shook my head, still amused. God, when had he gotten so big? It felt like yesterday he was clinging to my leg, crying because he didn’t want me to leave him at daycare, and now he was worried about looking uncool in front of his classmates.
“Fine,” I said, lifting both hands in surrender. “No more kisses in front of your friends. Deal?”
“Deal.”
He pushed the door open, then paused and looked back at me. “Don’t forget. Tonight.”
My expression softened. “I won’t.”
That seemed to satisfy him. He gave me a small nod, swung his backpack over one shoulder, and jogged toward the school entrance. I stayed there for a few seconds, watching him disappear into the crowd of children, unable to stop the small smile tugging at my lips.
My baby really wasn’t a baby anymore.
Just as I reached for the gear shift, my phone started ringing. I glanced at the screen and frowned.
Arthur.
What did he want?
Arthur Young owned the photography studio where I worked, and unlike most bosses, he actually respected boundaries. He knew I had taken the day off, which meant if he was calling me now, something had gone wrong. A strange unease settled in my stomach as I accepted the call.
“Arthur?”
“Ivy,” he said, slightly out of breath, “sorry for bothering you, but I need you. Urgently.”
I straightened in my seat. “What happened?”
“Ace Clark is getting engaged. They need a photographer for the engagement ceremony, and they need one right now.”
I frowned. The name meant nothing to me.
“Arthur, I’m off today—”
“I know,” he said quickly. “But this is Ace freaking Clark, Ivy. Do you understand how important that is? We cannot mess this up. I need you here.”
“Arthur—”
“I’ll pay you.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “That’s not the—”
“Triple.”
I went silent. Arthur exhaled sharply on the other end. “I’ll pay you three times your usual rate, Ivy. Just get here.”
Before I could answer, the line went dead.
«Me mentiste durante diez años». Se me heló la sangre cuando mi jefe multimillonario arrojó una carpeta sobre mi escritorio. Una prueba de ADN. Mis manos comenzaron a temblar.
«Puedo explicarlo…»
Golpeó mi escritorio con ambas manos y se inclinó hacia mí.
«¿Explicar qué?», preguntó en un susurro amenazante. «¿Por qué mi hijo pasó diez años llamando “papá” a otro hombre?»
CAPÍTULO 1: MADRE E HIJO
PUNTO DE VISTA DE IVY
«Mamá, si papá supiera de mí… ¿me querría?»
Mi mano se quedó paralizada sobre la sartén, con la espátula suspendida sobre un panqueque a medio cocinar. Por un momento, me limité a mirar fijamente la masa burbujeante, como si de repente exigiera toda mi atención.
Leroy estaba sentado a la mesa de la cocina con su uniforme escolar, la mochila apoyada junto a su silla, listo para ir a la primaria. Lo preguntó con tanta naturalidad, como si estuviera preguntando qué íbamos a desayunar, pero sus ojos permanecían fijos en mí, observándome, esperando.
Exhalé lentamente.
«Haces preguntas muy complicadas para un martes por la mañana, mi amor».
Frunció el ceño y empezó a jugar con la cremallera de su mochila.
—Tenemos que preparar un árbol genealógico para el viernes —dijo—. Todos en la clase ya saben qué van a escribir. Yo ni siquiera sé qué se supone que debo poner.
Tragué saliva y me obligué a concentrarme en darle la vuelta al panqueque antes de que se quemara.
—Puedes poner a la tía Emily —dije, tratando de mantener un tono de voz tranquilo—. Y a la vieja Vanessa también. De todos modos, ella prácticamente ayuda a criarte.
Vanessa había estado cuidando a Leroy durante años cada vez que el trabajo me retenía hasta tarde. A estas alturas, ya no la veía tanto como una niñera, sino más bien como parte de la familia.
«Mamá».
Solo una palabra, pero la forma en que la dijo me oprimió el pecho. Suspiré y finalmente me volví para mirarlo.
Dios.
A veces todavía me impactaba tanto que me parecía casi injusto. Mi hijo se veía exactamente igual que su papá. El mismo cabello oscuro. Los mismos ojos penetrantes. La misma mandíbula obstinada que, de alguna manera, ya se veía definida incluso en un niño de diez años.
Una aventura fortuita de una sola noche con un desconocido cuyo nombre apenas sabía, y diez años después estaba parada en mi cocina preparando panqueques para el niño que habíamos creado.
Afortunadamente, Leroy había heredado más que solo el rostro de su papá. También había heredado mi dulzura, mi amabilidad y ese corazón bondadoso.
La verdad era que no sabía casi nada del hombre que era el padre de mi hijo. A veces me preguntaba si eso me hacía parecer estúpida.
Lo único que tenía era un rostro que recordaba con demasiada claridad. Esa noche, ni siquiera le había dicho mi nombre verdadero. Le dije que me llamaba Bethany, así que, aunque hubiera querido buscarme después, no habría encontrado a Ivy Rivera. Y, si era sincera, después de semanas de pánico y unos cuantos intentos desesperados por buscar a un hombre al que apenas conocía, me había dado cuenta de algo dolorosamente obvio: no se puede encontrar a alguien cuando no se tiene casi nada con qué buscar.
—¿Crees que le gustaría yo? —preguntó Leroy en voz baja, sacándome de mis pensamientos.
Me acerqué a él y le aparté un mechón de cabello oscuro de la frente. “Creo que cualquiera tendría suerte de conocerte, Leroy”.
Sus labios se apretaron formando una línea delgada. Esa no era la respuesta que quería, y ambos lo sabíamos.
Le apreté suavemente el hombro y le acerqué el plato. “Bueno, señor, come más rápido o llegaremos tarde a la escuela. Te prometo que intentaré responder todas tus preguntas más tarde, ¿de acuerdo?”.
Leroy frunció el ceño, pero finalmente asintió y pinchó un trozo de panqueque con más actitud de la necesaria.
Unos minutos más tarde, ya estábamos en el auto, atravesando el tráfico matutino de siempre. La ciudad ya estaba completamente despierta, con bocinas impacientes, aceras abarrotadas y gente que cruzaba apresuradamente los cruces peatonales con un café en la mano. Leroy se mantuvo callado durante la mayor parte del trayecto, lo cual era inusual en él.
Entonces, cuando nos detuvimos en un semáforo en rojo, volvió a hablar.
«¿Vamos a algún lado esta noche? Como… salir. Solo nosotros dos».
Se me ablandó el corazón al oír eso.
«Claro. Te recogeré después de la clase de arte y iremos a algún lugar agradable».
Finalmente se volvió hacia mí, luciendo un poco más como él mismo. «¿En serio? ¿Podemos tomar batidos también?»
Se me escapó una risita. «Claro, batidos también».
«¿Y cómics?»
Le lancé una mirada. «No te pases de la raya, señorito».
Eso le arrancó una sonrisa casi imperceptible, y el alivio aflojó algo que tenía apretado en el pecho.
Para cuando nos detuvimos frente a su escuela, Leroy parecía haber vuelto a ser un poco más él mismo. Estacioné cerca de la entrada y me volví hacia él justo cuando tomaba su mochila del asiento trasero.
—Que tengas un buen día, cariño —le dije y, antes de que pudiera escapar, me incliné para darle un beso en la mejilla. Leroy gimió al instante y se limpió la cara con la manga.
—Mamá —murmuró, mirando hacia las puertas de la escuela donde ya se estaban reuniendo otros chicos—, no me beses frente a mis amigos.
Se me escapó una risa. —Ay, vaya. Mírate. ¿Ya eres demasiado grande para tu mamá?
«Hablo en serio», dijo, aunque el ligero rubor que se le subía por las orejas me hizo sonreír aún más.
Negué con la cabeza, todavía divertida. Dios, ¿cuándo se había hecho tan grande? Parecía que fue ayer cuando se aferraba a mi pierna, llorando porque no quería que lo dejara en la guardería, y ahora le preocupaba parecer poco cool frente a sus compañeros de clase.
—Está bien —dije, levantando ambas manos en señal de rendición—. No más besos frente a tus amigos. ¿Trato hecho?
—Trato hecho.
Empujó la puerta para abrirla, luego se detuvo y se volvió a mirarme. —No te olvides. Esta noche.
Mi expresión se suavizó. —No me olvidaré.
Eso pareció satisfacerlo. Asintió levemente con la cabeza, se colgó la mochila al hombro y se dirigió trotando hacia la entrada de la escuela. Me quedé allí unos segundos, viéndolo desaparecer entre la multitud de niños, incapaz de contener la pequeña sonrisa que se dibujaba en mis labios.
Mi bebé ya no era un bebé.
Justo cuando iba a tomar la palanca de cambios, mi celular comenzó a sonar. Eché un vistazo a la pantalla y fruncí el ceño.
Arthur.
¿Qué quería?
Arthur Young era el dueño del estudio de fotografía donde trabajaba y, a diferencia de la mayoría de los jefes, realmente respetaba los límites. Sabía que me había tomado el día libre, lo que significaba que, si me llamaba ahora, algo había salido mal. Una extraña inquietud se apoderó de mi estómago mientras aceptaba la llamada.
«¿Arthur?»
«Ivy», dijo, un poco sin aliento, «perdón por molestarte, pero te necesito. Con urgencia».
Me enderecé en mi asiento. «¿Qué pasó?»
«Ace Clark se va a comprometer. Necesitan un fotógrafo para la ceremonia de compromiso, y lo necesitan ya mismo».
Fruncí el ceño. Ese nombre no me decía nada.
«Arthur, hoy tengo el día libre…»
«Lo sé», dijo rápidamente. «Pero se trata del maldito Ace Clark, Ivy. ¿Entiendes lo importante que es esto? No podemos arruinar esto. Te necesito aquí».
«Arthur…»
«Te pagaré».
Me pellizqué el puente de la nariz. «Eso no es lo…»
«El triple».
Me quedé en silencio. Arthur exhaló bruscamente al otro lado de la línea. «Te pagaré el triple de tu tarifa habitual, Ivy. Solo ven aquí».
Antes de que pudiera responder, se cortó la comunicación.
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