That evening, I made pasta for dinner.
It was the meal I prepared when I needed the children to feel that everything was normal.
Noah complained that I had used too much sauce.
Sophie told him he was welcome to cook next time.
He said he would, provided I bought the ingredients he specified.
I listened to them argue while I stirred the pot.
Their voices filled the kitchen.
I wanted to hold on to that sound.
Because once I told them what I had planned, things might change.
Not necessarily between them and me.
But the world outside our home could become more complicated.
I turned off the stove.
"Come sit with me for a minute."
Noah looked up from his plate.
"Did something happen at school?"
"No."
Sophie set down her fork.
"Are we in trouble?"
"No. Neither of you."
They exchanged a glance.
Then they followed me into the living room.
I asked them to sit on the sofa.
Noah chose the end closest to the lamp, where he could see the papers on the coffee table.
Sophie tucked her feet beneath her and leaned against a cushion.
I had rehearsed what I wanted to say while washing dishes.
Every version sounded wrong.
I could make the truth sound softer than it was, but that would not make it less true.
So I started at the beginning.
"You both know that I've raised you without your father living with us."
Noah nodded.
Sophie watched my face.
"I've told you before that the circumstances around our separation were difficult. There are some things I haven't explained because you were too young to understand them."
"Okay," Noah said.
I took a breath.
"Your father's name is Ethan Sullivan."
Neither child spoke.
I waited.
Noah adjusted his glasses.
"Is he the man who owns Sullivan Group?"
I blinked.
"You know about him?"
"We studied companies at school," Noah said. "His name came up when we were talking about how businesses grow."
Sophie turned toward him.
"You never told me that."
"You were drawing a cat on your worksheet."
"It was a very good cat."
Despite myself, I smiled.
Then I looked at them both.
"Yes. He's that man."
Sophie studied my face.
"Is he the one you were married to?"
"Yes."
She pulled the cushion closer to her stomach.
"And he knows about us?"
There it was.
The question I had dreaded since the day they were born.
"No," I said.
I would not lie to them now.
"He didn't know I was pregnant when we separated."
Noah frowned.
"How could he not know?"
"Because I hadn't told him yet."
"Why not?"
I looked at my hands.
The memory came back with such clarity that I could almost feel the cold water soaking through my shoes.
"I was going to tell him."
I stopped.
The words were too small for what had happened.
"Your father and I were having serious problems. One night, during a terrible argument, he ended our marriage. I didn't have the chance to tell him about the pregnancy before he ordered me to leave."
Sophie had gone very still.
"Did he know you were going to have a baby?"
"No."
"Did he know you were going to have two?"
"No."
Noah looked down at the coffee table.
"So he didn't know we existed."
"That's right."
I could hear the clock ticking in the hallway.
Sophie moved closer to me.
"Did he leave because of us?"
"No."
I answered before she could misunderstand.
"You were not the reason your father and I separated. You didn't do anything wrong. You weren't even born yet."
She nodded, but her eyes had become shiny.
I put my arm around her shoulders.
Noah remained quiet.
He usually asked questions until every detail made sense to him.
This time, he seemed to be choosing his words carefully.
"Why are you telling us now?"
I reached for the remote and turned on the television.
I had saved the interview.
Ethan's face appeared on the screen.
I played the section where the interviewer asked about his regrets.
When Ethan said he wished he had children, Sophie looked from the screen to me.
Then back again.
"Does he really not know?"
"He knows now that he has no children in his life," I said. "But he still doesn't know about you two."
Noah leaned forward.
"He told the interviewer he never had any?"
"Yes."
"Even though he was married to you?"
"Yes."
Noah's eyebrows drew together.
He looked almost offended by the poor logic of it.
"That doesn't make sense."
"No," I said. "It doesn't."
Sophie was staring at the screen.
"Everyone thinks he's sad."
"They do."
"But we're right here."
I swallowed.
"Yes, sweetheart. You are."
She leaned against me.
For a few minutes, none of us spoke.
Then I told them about the gala.
I explained that Ethan's company was holding a large event on Saturday night and that Lucas had arranged invitations for us.
I told them I wanted to attend because I wanted Ethan to see them and hear the truth.
I explained that people might notice us.
Someone might take photographs.
The story might become public.
I made sure they understood that they didn't owe me their attendance.
"If either of you doesn't want to go, we won't go," I said. "I won't be disappointed in you. This is an adult problem, and you don't have to solve it for me."
Noah looked at me over the top of his glasses.
"So biologically, he's our father, but practically, he's like a sperm donor who happened to be rich?"
I nearly swallowed my tongue.
"Noah."
"What? I'm trying to understand the relationship."
Sophie burst out laughing.
She laughed so hard that she had to wipe her eyes.
Even I couldn't hold back a smile.
"That is not how I would explain it," I said.
"But is it technically wrong?"
"That is not the point."
He considered this.
"Fine. I'll think of a more precise description."
Sophie nudged him with her shoulder.
"You can't turn everything into a science project."
"I can try."
Their laughter faded slowly.
Then Noah's expression changed.
He looked at me, not the television.
"I want to go."
I kept my voice gentle.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I want to see him."
He paused.
"And I want to know whether he looks at us and recognizes himself."
I felt the words land somewhere deep inside me.
I had wondered the same thing for ten years.
Sophie wiped her hands on her pajamas.
"I'm going too."
"You don't have to decide because Noah has decided."
"I'm not."
She sat up straighter.
"I want to see the man who made you sad."
I reached for her hand.
"There's more to the story than that. Your father and I both made mistakes in our marriage."
"But he was mean to you."
I couldn't deny it.
"Yes. He was."
She looked toward the television again.
"I still want to go."
I pulled them both into my arms.
For a moment, we stayed that way, their heads against my shoulders, their arms around my waist.
I had spent years trying to protect them from the emptiness their father had left behind.
I had not realized that the truth could hurt them in a different way.
But they deserved to know where they came from.
They deserved the chance to make their own decisions.
After a while, Noah pulled away.
"I have one condition."
I raised an eyebrow.
"What condition?"
"If there's money recovered from the divorce, I want ten percent."
I stared at him.
"For what?"
"Startup funding."
He said it as if we were discussing the weather.
"I have several ideas, but I need capital to test them."
Sophie groaned.
"You just found out who your father is, and you're already asking for money."
"I'm asking for an investment allocation."
"You are ten."
"And investments work better when you start early."
I shook my head.
I should have been annoyed.
Instead, I remembered Ethan sitting at his desk years ago, studying figures with the same serious expression.
Noah had never met him.
Yet somehow, the resemblance went beyond his face.
"Let's get through Saturday first," I said.
Noah nodded as if that were a reasonable business condition.
Sophie jumped off the sofa.
"I'm wearing my blue dress."
"Which blue dress?"
"The sparkly one."
"The one you wore to your school concert?"
"Yes. I want to look beautiful."
She said it without hesitation.
Then she looked at me.
"I want him to see what he missed."
I couldn't answer immediately.
I had spent ten years imagining what I would say to Ethan if I ever saw him again.
I had prepared arguments.
I had pictured anger.
I had imagined asking him how he could walk away from a pregnant wife and never look back.
But I had never imagined my daughter standing in front of a mirror, choosing a dress because she wanted her father to see her.
I drew her close and kissed the top of her head.
"Then we'll make sure it's ready."
Later, after the children had gone to bed, I stood in the doorway and watched them settle beneath their blankets.
Noah had already returned to reading.
Sophie had placed her blue dress over the back of her chair so she wouldn't forget it.
I went to my room and opened the closet.
My own dress hung near the back.
It was simple and dark, something I could wear without feeling as though I were pretending to be a person I wasn't.
I took it off the hanger.
Then I placed it beside the twins' clothes.
Saturday was no longer a plan I had made in anger.
My children had heard the truth.
They had understood enough to make their own choice.
And they wanted to stand beside me.
Click here to continue reading: PART 4: Ten Years Ago, Thirty Dollars Fell at My Feet in the Rain, and I Finally Understood Why I Never Forgot It
The Night I Heard My Ex-Husband Tell the World He Had Never Been a Father
Part 3 of 15
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