Emily's driveway crunches under the SUV's tires as questions ricochet through my mind.Before I can voice any of them, Emily's already out of the car, heading for her front door.
"Samantha?"she calls out as we step inside.
My eyes sweep the living room, taking in the homey touches—family photos, a worn leather couch, books stacked on coffee tables.Not the sterile environment I expected from a social worker.
"She's outside."Emily gestures toward broad windows overlooking a small garden.
A teenager sits cross-legged in the grass, back turned to us, head bobbing to whatever's playing through her headphones.She's wearing a mint green shirt, her dark blonde hair pulled up in a ponytail that catches the afternoon light.Something tugs in my chest—a recognition I'm not ready to acknowledge.
"Let me talk to her first," Emily says, already moving toward the back door.
"Go ahead."My voice sounds rougher than intended."I'll wait here."
Emily crosses the lawn, positioning herself where the girl can see her.The teenager removes her headphones, and even from here, I catch the way her spine stiffens at whatever Emily says.When Emily points toward the house, the girl rises slowly, turning to face us.
Sweet Jesus.
The air leaves my lungs in a rush.It's like looking in a mirror and seeing my features softened, feminized.Those distinctive Walker eyes—clear blue as a summer sky—stare back at me with a mixture of defiance and vulnerability that hits like a sucker punch to the gut.
Emily guides her inside, hand protective on her back.The girl's eyes stay fixed on the floor as they approach, but there's a stubborn set to her jaw that's painfully familiar.
"Why don't we sit?"Emily suggests, her tone gentle but firm.
The silence stretches between us like pulled taffy as we settle—the girls on the couch, me in an armchair that suddenly feels too small for my frame.I find myself studying her features, cataloging the pieces of myself I see reflected back: the high cheekbones, the slight furrow between her brows, even the way she holds herself—shoulders back, chin tilted slightly up despite her downcast eyes.
Emily clears her throat."Samantha, this is—"
"You're my father?"Her chin snaps up, those Walker-blue eyes blazing.
"Yeah, the chances of that being true have grown significantly."
"You thought my mother was a liar!"The thickness in her voice catches me off guard.
Emily jumps in."Samantha, what Mr.Walker tried to say is—"
"He believed my mother was a liar."She's on her feet in a flash, storming back to the garden.The headphones go back in place—a clear dismissal if I've ever seen one.
"I'll talk to her," Emily starts to rise, but I'm already standing.
"Can I?"The word surprises us both.
Emily studies me for a moment before stepping back.I cross to where Samantha sits, deliberately placing myself in her line of sight.No response.Great.The stubbornness is definitely a Walker trait too.
"Samantha?"I keep my voice calm, steady.Still nothing.Frustration bubbles up, and I find myself reaching down to pull the headphones from her ears.
"Hey, I'm sorry if I said the wrong thing.But giving me the cold shoulder won't make it better."
She keeps her gaze fixed on her hands as they stroke through the grass.Something about the gesture—so young, so uncertain—softens the edge of my irritation.
"I'm sorry about what happened to your mom.And I can imagine you've got millions of questions running through your head.I know I do."
"What are you thinking?"The question comes out barely above a whisper.
"I wonder how I have a daughter I never knew existed."
"You think I'm your daughter?Why?"
A half-smile tugs at my mouth."Because you're blessed or cursed with what I call the Walker Genes.Two major ones: First, height.I bet you're taller than most of your peers."
