I Scrubbed My Ex’s Mansion Floors Until My Secret Son Wandered Out And Called Him Daddy

Part 2

I didn’t stay to hear Brenda’s explanation.

I curled up tightly around my son on the narrow, uncomfortable cot in the cramped room behind the laundry.

Tyler fell asleep almost instantly, his small, warm breaths evening out gently against my chest.

I lay completely awake, staring blankly at the cracked plaster on the ceiling, waiting for the heavy footsteps that would inevitably come to throw us out into the cold night.

Instead, a soft, incredibly tentative knock sounded at the door two agonizing hours later.

the doctor stood in the dimly lit hallway, his battered black medical bag in hand, looking at me with tired, deeply sympathetic eyes.

He checked my blood pressure carefully and gently examined the dark bruises on my swollen hands.

He ordered me to strict, uncompromising bed rest for the next four days, warning me that the severe exhaustion was actively threatening the baby.

I was moved from the laundry room cot into the sprawling south guest suite long before dawn broke.

The massive bed was unimaginably soft, the high-thread-count sheets smelling distinctly of lavender instead of harsh bleach.

I woke up late the next morning to the comforting smell of slightly burnt toast and melted salted butter.

Tyler was sitting cross-legged at the very foot of the massive bed, happily balancing a small porcelain plate on his lap.

Brian stood awkwardly in the grand doorway, holding a heavy silver tray with a pot of tea and a single delicate cup.

He set the tray on the nightstand without making a single sound.

He pulled a heavy armchair to a incredibly polite distance from the bed and sat down heavily.

He looked at me as if I were something incredibly fragile that he had lost a long, long time ago.

I sent Tyler downstairs immediately to help Brenda with the conservatory windows.

When the heavy oak door clicked shut, the silence in the room became entirely unbearable.

“Ask me,” I told him, folding my trembling hands securely over my stomach.

He dropped his head heavily into his hands.

He asked me why I disappeared, why I never told him about our son, why I let him believe I simply didn’t want him anymore.

I told him in a remarkably steady voice about the typed letter breaking off our engagement, signed perfectly with his name.

I told him about the ruthless eviction notice that came exactly three days later, forcing me out onto the street.

I told him about the desperate phone calls to his office that were systematically intercepted and blocked by his loyal staff.

I finally told him about his mother.

Brian slid slowly off the chair and sank directly to his knees on the thick carpet right beside the bed.

He wrapped his warm hands gently around mine, resting his head heavily against the edge of the mattress.

He swore he never wrote that terrible letter, that he had returned from his trip with a ring in his pocket, only to find my apartment totally empty and my number disconnected.

He had actively searched for me for two grueling years before finally giving up, believing I had simply moved on.

His mother had orchestrated the entire betrayal to get rid of me, but with the massive company gala just days away, would he actually have the courage to expose her in front of the world?