Chapter 14 — The Son I Never Knew
Caleb survived surgery.
The bullet missed his heart by less than an inch.
Keane escaped again.
Police raided his rehabilitation clinic.
He was gone.
So was Elias.
My son.
Seventeen years old.
Alive somewhere.
The memory card had been damaged beneath the truck, but technicians recovered part of it.
Enough to prove illegal adoptions.
Not enough to locate Keane.
I sat beside Caleb’s hospital bed.
“What did you mean Hannah was leaving me?”
He stared at the ceiling.
“She was scared.”
“Of me?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“Of becoming a mother.”
The answer hurt in a different way.
Hannah had smiled while painting the nursery.
She had chosen names.
She had placed my hand against her stomach every night.
“She never told me.”
“She told me.”
“Why you?”
“We had known each other since college.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
Caleb looked at me.
“She kissed me once.”
The room went silent.
“Once?”
“Yes.”
“Did you sleep with her?”
“No.”
“Do not lie now.”
“I’m not.”
I wanted to hit him again.
Instead, I sat down.
Hitting him would have been easier than hearing the rest.
“She regretted it immediately,” Caleb said. “She planned to tell you after she finished the investigation.”
“You helped her hide it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I loved both of you, and I was a coward.”
A real failure.
Not a misunderstanding.
Not a noble sacrifice.
Cowardice.
I walked out before I did something I could not undo.
Maisie was waiting in the hallway.
She had heard enough.
“Adults are disappointing,” she said.
“That seems to be the theme.”
She sat beside me.
Her new prosthetic liner had arrived that morning through a hospital assistance program.
For the first time since I met her, she was not bleeding.
“I found something,” she said.
She handed me Erin’s old recorder.
“There was another track.”
We pressed play.
Erin’s voice filled the hallway.
“Rowan, if you discover your son survived, do not assume finding him means you can become his father overnight.”
I looked at Maisie.
Erin continued.
“Elias has been raised by Keane. He may love him. He may hate you. He may refuse to believe the truth. Your pain does not give you ownership of his life.”
The words were brutal.
They were also true.
The recording included a contact number.
Not Keane’s.
Elias’s private phone.
I called.
It rang six times.
A boy answered.
“Hello?”
My voice failed.
Maisie took my hand.
I tried again.
“My name is Rowan Mercer.”
Silence.
Then Elias said, “I know who you are.”
My heart stopped.
“Where are you?”
“I’m safe.”
“With Keane?”
“He’s my father.”
“No. He took you.”
“That’s what your people say.”
“My people?”
“The police. Reporters. Your brother.”
I closed my eyes.
“Elias, I thought you were dead.”
“That wasn’t my fault.”
“No.”
“Dr. Keane raised me.”
“He stole you.”
“He stayed.”
The word struck deep.
I had not stayed because I had not known.
To Elias, that distinction meant nothing.
“I’m not asking you to choose me,” I said.
“Good.”
“I just want to see you.”
“No.”
The answer was immediate.
Honest.
Painful.
“I’m sorry,” he added awkwardly. “That sounded mean.”
“You don’t have to protect my feelings.”
“I’m not.”
Maisie covered a laugh.
Then Elias said, “There’s someone here who wants to talk to Maisie.”
Her smile vanished.
“Who?”
A woman’s voice came onto the phone.
Erin.
May you like
“Maisie, Keane has me.”
The line went dead.
