That’s when three voices called out from the end of the aisle. “Mom!” Amara, Andy, and Ashton walked toward us, tall and confident, backpacks slung over their shoulders. Adam’s face drained of color.
“Are those—?” he whispered.
“Yes,” I said. “Your children.”
He stared at them, jaw trembling. “I—I didn’t think—”
“That they’d grow up?” I asked. “That we’d survive without you?”
The woman beside him stepped back slowly. “You never told me you had kids.”
“I didn’t,” she added, eyes narrowing. “Especially not three.”
Adam opened his mouth, but nothing came out. For the first time, he had nowhere to run.
Later, he asked to talk. I agreed—once. We sat on a bench outside, the kids nearby, pretending not to listen.
“I was scared,” he said. “I panicked. I ruined everything.”
“Yes,” I replied. “You did.”
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