David Arthur.
But no one called my father Arthur.
I stepped between Mara and the bed.
“How do you know my father?”
She studied me for several seconds before saying something I’ll never forget.
“You deserve to know what he did every Thursday.”
My stomach tightened.
“What are you talking about?”
She pulled a chair toward herself but remained standing.
“Your father and I dated one summer after college.”
I stared at her.
“Okay.”
“He called himself Arthur back then. He liked his middle name better.”
I crossed my arms.
“And?”
“He moved away for his first architecture job. I found out I was pregnant after he left.”
I actually laughed.
The statement was so absurd that my mind rejected it.
“No.”
“Stop.”
“He’s thirty-seven.”
“I said stop.”
Mara’s eyes filled with tears.
“David didn’t know.”
That made me pause.
She reached carefully into her purse.
“I tried contacting him once when Evan was little. The letter was sent back to me. I didn’t know how else to find him then.”
“So you just showed up now?”
“No.”
She looked toward Dad.
“Ten years ago, Evan asked me to find him.”
A cold feeling spread through me.
The whole thing sounded like a trap.
Mara continued.
“I found David online. I emailed him.”
“And?”
“He didn’t believe me.”
“Good. I don’t believe you either. Whose to say you’re not some scam artist preying on a random family?”
“He asked for a DNA test.”
She removed an envelope from her purse.
“I agreed. The test confirmed Evan was his son.”
She handed it to me.
I studied the report, desperate to find something obviously wrong.
But there it was.
According to the test, this stranger was telling the truth.
I looked at Dad.
The monitors continued blinking beside him, but suddenly I felt as though I didn’t know the man lying in that hospital bed.
“No. All of this can be faked. You’re no average scammer, after all.”
“I understand this is difficult.”
“You clearly don’t.”
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