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The boys were excited.
Christmas at an estate sounded like something from a movie.
Ethan wanted to see the horses.
Daniel wanted to know if the house had a swimming pool.
Noah wanted to know whether rich people really had servants.
Samuel only wanted to know whether there would be chocolate cake.
I smiled at all of them.
“Probably.”
“What about presents?” Daniel asked.
“Daniel.”
“What? It’s Christmas.”
I laughed.
They didn’t know the real reason we were going.
They didn’t know who Adrian was.
Well, they knew his name.
I had never lied to them about their father.
I simply hadn’t told them everything.
I told them he had left when I was pregnant.
I told them he had made a choice.
I told them that whatever happened between their father and me was never their fault.
And I never taught them to hate him.
That was important to me.
Because children shouldn’t have to carry the weight of adult mistakes.
But there was something I had never told them.
I had never told them why Adrian believed my pregnancy was a lie.
Eight years earlier, I had stood in our apartment holding a positive pregnancy test.
I was shaking.
Not because I was afraid.
Because I was happy.
Adrian had just returned from a long assignment.
