“You did not know because you were entirely blind to everything around you,” I retorted. “You did not even bother to read the agreement where you declared we had no children, because you only wanted to run away.”
“If you had just spoken up and told me…” he began desperate words.
“What exactly would you have done differently back then?” I interrupted directly.
His mouth opened, but nothing came out.
“Exactly,” I said firmly, shutting down his hypothetical excuses.
He turned his attention toward Mason, who was still posing for photographs across the auditorium. “I want to talk to him right now.”
“Not today, Lucas,” I declined immediately.
“I am his father,” he insisted, taking a step closer.
“Biologically, yes, but nothing more,” I reminded him coldly.
His jaw tightened with frustration. “You cannot legally prevent me from meeting my own son.”
“I will never stand in the way of anything that is genuinely good for Mason,” I explained clearly. “However, I will not let you show up after nine full years to ease your personal guilt.”
Lucas lowered his voice, looking genuinely distressed. “Does he even know who I am?”
“He knows his father was not around, but he does not know your name,” I answered truthfully.
“Were you planning to hide my existence from him forever?” he asked softly.
“I planned to tell him the truth when he was old enough to hear it without feeling forced to hate you,” I replied.
My answer left him completely speechless, stripping away his familiar corporate confidence.
For the first time, I saw a glimpse of the vulnerable man I had known before wealth and power consumed so much of his life. “Please just let me speak with him for five short minutes.”
“No, not today,” I held my ground firmly.
“Nora, I am begging you,” he pleaded quietly.
“Today he won the most important award of his young life,” I reasoned sternly. “I will not let him remember this day as the chaotic moment his father suddenly appeared.”
I collected my purse and straightened my coat. “If you truly want to build a relationship with him, you need to do it properly by seeking family counseling and talking to my lawyer first.”
Without looking back, I turned and walked out of the auditorium.
Later that evening, as Mason and I ate dinner in our quiet apartment, he suddenly lowered his fork onto the table. “Mom, is that donor Mr. Lucas Albright actually my father?”
A sharp pain moved through my chest as I looked across at him. “Yes, he is.”
He neither cried nor threw a tantrum. “Did he know that I existed all these years?”
“No, he did not know,” I answered carefully.
“Did you choose not to tell him about me?” he asked directly.
I gave him a gentle but honest account of the past, explaining that his father and I had been divorcing when I discovered the pregnancy and that our final separation had been too painful to navigate.
Mason stayed quiet for a long time before asking the question I had feared more than any other. “So did my dad abandon me, or did you hide me from him?”
Before I could answer that painful question, the apartment doorbell suddenly rang.
I glanced at the wall clock and realized it was already after nine at night.
Carefully, I approached the front door and looked through the peephole.
Lucas stood outside in the dim hallway.
But he wasn’t alone.
