Page 47 of Child of Mine

But what I see on the other side of the scenery has me frozen in place. Eyes flicking from my mom’s confused expression to Henry’s furious one, I watch in horror as the drama of my real life unfolds right before my very eyes.

Lilah jumping up and down in front of me yelling “Mommy” brings me crashing back to reality. To the web of lies I’ve spun that only I can untangle.

* * *

HENRY

As clearly as when she was onstage, the emotions that cross Bella’s face when she rounds the corner tell an unmistakable story.

Shock at seeing me here. Panic until she locates her daughter. A brief sliver of hope that I won’t notice the family resemblance between Lilah and myself. Resignation when she sees the anger I’m not even trying to hide. Then a grim determination as she approaches us, her arm hugging her daughter close like I’m going to grab her and run.

“Bella is this man—” Doris begins.

With a warning glance, Bella interrupts her. “Mom, I really need to talk to Henry right now.” Squatting, she takes Lilah by the shoulders. “Lilah, I so want to hear what you thought about the show, but I just need to talk to your—um, I mean—my work friend Henry about some important, uh, work stuff. I promise I will be home for dinner and then we can hang out. Okay?”

“Can we have Chinese takeout still?” the little girl asks.

Bella nods. “Of course. Just like I promised.”

“Okay.”

Grabbing her grandmother’s hand, Lilah drags her toward the parking lot. Doris gives Bella a clear you-and-I-need-to-talk brow raise before giving in.

When I turn back to Bella, the tears in her eyes disarm my anger momentarily, but then I remember that she’s been lying to me. For weeks.

Years.

“Either we do this here or at my place, but I am not leaving your side until you explain to me why you thought it was okay to not tell me I had a daughter,” I grind out.

Panic crosses her face as she checks the surrounding area. “Can we go to my car? I just”—a hand flaps in the air—“don’t want this aired in public.”

Throat clogged with questions, I throw up my hands. “Fine.”

The parking lot is nearly empty at this point. Her steps slow as she approaches an older Corolla, and she takes a ridiculously long time to unlock the trunk and stow her bag inside.

“Bella,” I warn.

“I’m sorry,” she says quickly, her voice shaking. She unlocks the passenger side and then walks around to the driver’s side like she’s walking to her execution. Steeling my heart against pity—the woman lied to me, for god’s sake—I climb in. And wait.

Hands trembling, she grabs the steering wheel. “You don’t even like kids.”

“That’s your excuse?”

“It’s not an excuse, it’s—”

“You didn’t know that years ago,” I cut in, “when you found out you were pregnant.” Then something else occurs to me, and jealousy jumps to the head of the line of uncomfortable emotions battling for control of my mouth. “Did you not know she was mine?”

She hesitates, but then answers, “No. I knew she was yours. I mean, I wasn’t a virgin or anything—”

“Obviously,” I growl.

“But I hadn’t been with anyone since I got out—I mean, since I decided to leave the show.”

“So, you just chose to keep the news to yourself.”

“No, Henry.” Shifting in the seat, she points a finger at me. “You left, remember? How was I supposed to get this news to you? I didn’t know anything about you. Where you worked, where you lived, not even your fucking last name.”

“Smith,” I mutter.

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