Page 105 of The Sculptor

I stop breathing.

“I think you know him as Jude.”

Maybe it was her smile or her saying his name, but whatever the case, I begin to cry. “Yes,” I admit through the tears. “I know a Jude.”

She pulls me into her arms, letting me cry into her shirt, shushing me softly. “I know you’ve been through hell these past few months.”

I nod, wiping the tears, and pull away. This woman didn’t come here to serve as my teddy bear.

“I thought maybe I could help.”

Shaking my head, I dismiss her concern. “That’s okay. You don’t need to—”

“I know I don’t. But you see, my friend, well, he can’t stand to see women cry.” She shrugs likewhat can you do when they’re stubborn as fuck. “He also couldn’t stand one more minute without meeting you.” She blinks back tears. “Just don’t tell him I told you that. He has an image he likes to maintain.”

I feel a sob bubble up through my chest.He wanted to meet me.

My son.

He’s here.

“You ready?”

I think of all the reasons I should say no. My hair looks like a bird’s nest. My clothes are basically bathroom rags, and my face, well, there’s probably no cream in existence that would reduce the blotchiness I have going on right now.

But none of those things matter.

Because it’s been eighteen years since I’ve seen this boy—eighteen years since I’ve held him in my arms and marveled over his beauty, and nothing, not even the hot mess I am, will stop me from reuniting with my son.

“I’ve been ready,” I tell Halle, with tears dripping steadily down my cheeks. “So, so ready.”

Halle offers me a watery smile. “He’s really a special boy,” she admits. “It’s been an honor getting to know him.” She doesn’t give me time to ask her all the questions that flash through my mind. She simply motions to a parked SUV.

I stop breathing in those moments when the door slowly opens, and a man—not a boy—steps out, his eyes shielded with a pair of sunglasses.

He has dark hair like Duke, but his face… is wholly his own. His cheeks aren’t chubby—they’re solid and unyielding, like a man who never takes no for an answer.

I can’t even form words as the boy Duke and I brought into this world walks toward us so confidently—so healthy that I can’t stop the tears from falling. He made it. He really made it.

“Ramsey, I’d like you to meet Remington—your son.”

Halle steps to the side, and every lonely night, every tear I’ve shed, comes to an end.

This boy was the reason I believed.

The reason I suffered.

To have this one moment—of finally seeing his beautiful face as he removes his sunglasses, giving me my first look at those haunting brown eyes I’ve drawn thousands of times.

My stomach tumbles over as he stares at me, drinking me in as the seconds tick by.

“Hi, Remington,” I finally manage through sobs, my hand reaching out instinctively before I catch myself and pull it back. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

For a moment, all he does is blink, the muscle in his jaw working just like his father’s does when he’s upset.

“I—” A cry explodes from my chest, and I’m helpless to stop it as I sink to my knees. “Oh, Remington, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry we didn’t find you sooner. I’m so—”

“Don’t fucking say you’re sorry,” he snaps, startling me by yanking me to my feet. “Don’t ever say you’re sorry again.”

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