Lucas returned the smile, lifted the framed certificate, and lowered his eyes toward the boy standing before him.
The instant he truly saw Mason’s face, his smile disappeared.
They had the same deep eyes, the same nose, and the same sharply defined chin.
For a second, Lucas seemed to forget how to breathe, and his hands trembled faintly against the certificate frame. “What is your full name, young man?” he whispered.
“My name is Mason Miller,” my son answered politely.
“How old are you?” Lucas asked, his voice shaking noticeably.
“I am nine years old,” Mason replied.
From my seat, I watched Lucas silently calculate the years as the color drained from his face.
His eyes swept rapidly across the crowded auditorium until they finally found me sitting in the front row. For the first time in almost ten years, our gazes met.
The horror on his face told me he had already understood everything, although neither of us knew what would happen next.
For illustration purposes only
Lucas remained motionless onstage, gripping the certificate tightly while continuing to stare at the boy in front of him.
“Excuse me, sir,” Mason said, looking quite confused by the delay. “Could you please give me my certificate?”
Lucas blinked several times as though abruptly returning to reality. “Yes, of course, congratulations to you.”
His voice cracked visibly in front of the entire audience.
My son smiled warmly before moving toward the podium to present his science project. Applause filled the auditorium, but Lucas appeared unable to hear any of it because his eyes stayed fixed on me.
When the ceremony eventually ended, Mason rushed toward me carrying his award. “Mom, did you see the strange way that donor was looking at me?”
“Yes, I saw it, sweetie,” I replied softly, struggling to keep my voice steady.
“Do you happen to know him?” he asked curiously.
Before I could respond, one of the teachers called Mason over for group photographs with the other winners, leaving me briefly alone.
I waited until he had walked toward the stage before a deep voice sounded behind me. “Nora.”
Slowly, I turned and found Lucas standing less than two yards away.
“He is my son,” he stated directly, offering no greeting.
“Yes, he is,” I replied calmly.
For a brief moment, Lucas closed his eyes in agony. “You were pregnant when we signed those papers.”
“Yes, I was,” I answered without flinching.
“Why on earth didn’t you tell me back then?” he demanded, sudden indignation filling his voice.
The accusation in his tone unleashed anger I had buried for ten years. “Are you seriously trying to start this conversation by placing the blame on me?”
“I had every right to know about my own child,” he argued fiercely.
“I had the ultrasound image sitting inside my bag during our final meeting,” I told him sharply.
Lucas froze completely, his mouth falling open. “What did you say?”
“I was planning to show it to you right after signing,” I explained bitterly. “But then Alyssa called you, and you were in such a desperate rush that you told me not to ask childish questions.”
Every trace of defensiveness disappeared from his face as the painful memory returned. “Nora, I honestly had no idea.”
