Silence swallows the room.
He takes a slow step forward, his face twisted with disbelief. “You think this is something to be proud of?”
“I do,” I say, jaw tight. “Very proud.”
“She’s not ready for this. You’re not—she’s—” He cuts himself off, gripping the back of one of the chairs in front of my desk like he needs it to keep from unraveling.
I watch him, expression unreadable. “If you’re about to say she deserves better than me, save it. She’s made her choice. You don’t get to rewrite it.”
His knuckles whiten against the leather of the chair. “You little punk! How dare you put your hands on?—”
“On whom?” I ask coolly. “Your daughter?”
A heavy silence falls across the room. Roland’s face turns white as a sheet as he clutches the top of his cane.
“You—How long? How long have you known?”
“A week. I confirmed it with a DNA test. It wasn’t hard. I picked up a cup you were using at the hospital during one of Natalie’s visits, and I had the hair from her brush.”
“Nat—Does she know? Have you told her?”
“That the father who abandoned her as a child has been hovering around her?” I ask sharply, my tone cutting.
He looks up, and for a second, something raw flashesthrough his eyes. Guilt. Grief. Maybe even regret. But it’s fleeting. Swallowed up by fury.
“You’re manipulating her.”
“You don’t get to project your past mistakes onto me,” I snap. “If you want to blame someone for where she is now, try looking in a mirror.”
His chest rises and falls rapidly. “She’s my child.”
“She’s the mother ofmychild.”
That does it.
He lets go of the chair and takes a few shaky steps back. Like the weight of the words finally registered.
“She’s not safe with you,” he mutters.
“She’s safest with me,” I growl. “And you know it.”
We stare at each other. Two men with completely different brands of fire—and one woman in the middle.
He shakes his head, eyes distant now. “I want to talk to her, to explain?—”
“She’s faced enough rejection for a lifetime. I want you to stay the hell away from her!” I get to my feet now.
“You don’t get to make that decision,” he snarls. “She’s my daughter. You’re just the bumbling fool who got her pregnant. If you hurt her, I’ll?—”
“You’ll do what?” I sneer. “She’s mine now, Roland. I’ve laid my claim to her. That’s my child in her womb.”
He lifts his cane, but before he can utter a word, the door to my office opens.
To my surprise, my mother walks in.
“Roland?” She blinks. “What are you doing with that cane? Put it down, you’ll hurt someone. Ethan, has Natalie called you yet?”
“Called me?” I stare at her. “Isn’t she supposed to be with you? You took her out to lunch.”
