Miles didn't look back. He couldn't. If he turned around and saw Jasper's face—that small, hopeful expression that seemed too fragile for a place like Oakmont Apartments—he'd never leave. And if he didn't leave, he'd end up strangling Lori.

  His boots hit the gravel of the parking lot with a rhythmic, angry crunch. He pulled his phone from his pocket before he even reached his truck, his thumb hovering over the speed dial for his mother.

  "It's me," Miles snapped into the receiver as soon as she picked up. He didn't wait for a greeting. "She's impossible. Worse than before. I finally get her address after three years of her hiding

  like a rat, I show up to try and be a father, and she's hurling glass at my head in front of the kid."

  He climbed into the cab of his truck, slamming the door hard enough to make the rusted frame rattle.

  "The custody hearing is in three weeks, Ma," he continued, his voice dropping into a low, jagged thrum. "I've got the address now. I've got proof she's unfit. I just want to have a normal relationship with him. He's my son. He deserves better than a hooker for a mother."

  He drove in a blur of resentment, the steering wheel slick under his sweating palms. By the time he pulled into his own driveway, the adrenaline had faded, replaced by a cold, sinking hollow feeling in his gut.

  He walked to the mailbox at the end of the driveway. It was stuffed with junk mail and bills, but one envelope sat at the bottom—heavy, white, and embossed with a clinical logo he'd been dreading for ten days.

  He'd done the genetic testing in secret. A "feeling," he told himself. A lingering doubt born from Lori's lies that had finally grown loud enough to drown out his own heart.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Inside his house, Miles sat at the small kitchen table. Next to him stood a framed photo of Jasper at four years old—a grainy shot of the boy grinning, his small hand gripping Miles's thumb. The picture taken the same year Lori had told him of Jasper's existence.

  Miles's breath came in sharp, broken pulls. He slid a finger under the flap of the envelope and tore it open.

  His eyes scanned past the legal jargon and the laboratory fine print until they landed on the only line that mattered.

  PROBABILITY OF PATERNITY: 0%.

  The world froze for a moment. Tears welled in his eyes, hot and stinging, blurring the photo of young Jasper on the table.

  He had collected a sample of Jasper's hair the last time he had seen him, but he had been too afraid until now to test it. Jasper Zurich wasn't his. The boy he'd buried his pride for, the kid he'd fought for, was a stranger's legacy.

  Miles grabbed his phone, his hands trembling so hard he nearly dropped it. He snapped a photo of the results and sent it to Lori.

  His phone buzzed almost instantly. A text from Lori: What is this?

  He didn't text back. He called. She picked up on the first ring, her voice already sharp with defensive rage.

  "He's not even my kid?!" Miles bellowed into the phone, his voice cracking, the sound echoing off his empty walls. "He's not mine, Lori! You were never going to tell me the truth! You were going to let me walk into a courtroom and fight for a lie!"

  "Miles—"

  "Let me talk to him!" he shrieked, the desperation clawing at his throat. "Please! Just let me talk to Jasper! You'll never tell him the truth! Please!"

  On the other end of the line, there was a suffocating, heavy silence. He could almost hear her jaw set, the cold indifference of a woman who had already decided he was no longer useful.

  Click.

  The line went dead. Miles stared at the phone, still in shock. He knew he had no legal authority now. Jasper was gone. And this time, there was no way back.