“Rachel?”
James turned so fast his badge swung on the clip.
His face went blank first—shock—then shifted into something worse.
Guilt.
“Rachel,” he said, low and tight. “What are you doing here?”
Lily’s head snapped toward me.
Her eyes widened.
“Mom?”
The older man in the bed looked between us, then slowly sat up straighter.
He didn’t look confused.
He looked like someone who knew this moment would come.
“You followed us,” James said, like it was an accusation.
I walked in, keeping my voice even because my daughter was watching.
“Yes,” I said. “Because my six-year-old came home with an oncology visitor badge and told me it was a secret.”
Silence hit the room.
The little terrier padded to the edge of the bed, tail stiff, watching me like I was the threat.
Lily looked down at her hands.
“Daddy said you’d be mad,” she murmured.
My heart cracked, but I kept my tone calm.
“I’m not mad at you,” I told her. “I’m mad that you were asked to keep secrets from your mom.”
James rubbed his forehead like the weight had finally become physical.
“I didn’t want you involved,” he said.
“You don’t get to decide that,” I replied. “Not when it involves our child.”
The older man cleared his throat gently.
“Rachel,” he said.
He knew my name.
That detail landed like a punch.
James stared at the floor.
And the older man said the sentence that rearranged everything I thought I knew about my ex-husband.
“I’m Graham,” he said. “But you might know me as Gray.”
He glanced at the little dog. “This is Pippin.”
My brain flashed back to Lily’s words and the red bandana.
And then Graham looked at James—not like a friend.
Like family.
“I’m his father,” Graham said quietly.
James flinched.
And I felt my world tilt.
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