My billionaire ex-husband blamed me for our childless marriage and walked away—eight years later, he entered a restaurant and saw me sitting with twins who had his unmistakable eyes.

Chapter 6

Dominic called me the following morning.

I was pouring coffee while Eli searched the kitchen for a library book he insisted had vanished into thin air, and which was eventually located beneath his backpack.

“Imani.”

He sounded like he hadn’t slept. I could picture him in whatever glass tower he currently inhabited, surrounded by the wreckage of a long night.

“Good morning.”

“I found her.”

I stopped stirring. Across the kitchen, Zara was applying strawberry jam to toast with the concentration of a surgeon.

“That was fast.”

“Grace Wong still lives outside Seattle. She left the company about a year after you and I separated. Her father was ill. She moved home to care for him.”

“You remembered all that.”

“I spent the night reading old personnel files.” A pause. “I have her number.”

“Dominic — please don’t turn this into an investigation.”

“I won’t.”

I knew him well enough to hear how much that promise cost him.

“I just want to ask her what happened,” he said. “One conversation.”

“And if she doesn’t remember?”

“She remembers. People remember the letters that get misfiled.” He paused. “I want to fly out there.”

“To Seattle?”

“Tomorrow. I’ll be back the same night.”

I almost argued. Then I realized this wasn’t something I needed to control. This was Dominic discovering, for himself, the shape of what had gone wrong. He needed to stand in front of Grace Wong and hear her say it.

I had spent too many years living inside questions that could no longer change the life I’d built. Whatever he found in Seattle belonged to him.

“Okay,” I said.

“Okay?”

“Yes.”

Silence. “You’re sure you don’t want to be there?”

“I’m sure.”

Because I had another conversation to handle. The harder one.

That afternoon, Jade came over.

The four of us sat in the living room after school, surrounded by half-finished homework and the wreckage of an ambitious snack involving apples, peanut butter, and an amount of cinnamon that no reasonable person required. Zara noticed immediately that I was nervous.

“You keep fixing the pillow.”

I looked down. I had rearranged the same cushion three times.

Jade covered a smile. “Your sister has always bullied pillows when she’s worried.”

“Thank you, Jade.”

“Anytime.”

I put the cushion down. “There’s something I want to talk to you both about.”

Eli stopped chewing immediately. “Are we moving?”

“No.”

“Are you getting married?”

“No.”

Jade coughed to hide a laugh. I gave her a look.

“This is about the man from the restaurant.”

Both children went still. Zara nodded slowly.

“The one who knew you before.”

“Yes.”

I had rehearsed this conversation a hundred times in my head, and every version had sounded too complicated. So I chose the simplest possible truth.

“His name is Dominic Hayward. A long time ago, before you were born, Dominic and I were married.”

Eli blinked. “You were married?”

“Yes.”

“To him?”

“Yes.”

Zara’s expression changed first. Children understood more than adults gave them credit for, especially when the truth was sitting directly in front of them.

“Is he our dad?”

The room went very quiet.

I looked at both of them. “Yes.”

Neither child spoke for a long moment. Then Eli asked, “Did he know?”

That question pierced me. “He knows now.”

“Did he not know before?”

“No.”

“Why?”

There it was. The question that adults could spend years answering badly.

“Because sometimes grown-ups make decisions when they’re hurt or confused,” I said carefully, “and sometimes they don’t communicate the way they should.”

Zara frowned. “Did you forget to tell him?”

Jade looked down at her hands.

I almost laughed. Trust a child to reduce eight years of emotional history to the most practical possible explanation.

“No. I tried to tell him.”

“And?”

“He didn’t get the message.”

“Like when Aunt Jade forgets to check her texts?”

“Excuse me,” Jade protested.

I smiled. “Something like that. Except much more complicated.”

Eli was quiet for a long time. “Does he want to meet us?”

“Yes.”

“Do we have to?”

My chest tightened. “No. You never have to pretend to feel something because an adult expects you to. But I think it might be good to get to know him a little.”

Zara looked more curious than frightened. “Does he have other kids?”

I swallowed. “You two are his children.”

“I mean other kids.”

“No.”

She absorbed that. Then she asked, “Does he like pancakes?”

Jade laughed out loud.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Well,” Zara said firmly, “we should find out before we agree to breakfast with him.”

That became our first plan.

Not breakfast. A Saturday afternoon at a small café beside Harding Park. Neutral ground. No photographers. No corporate headquarters. No marble lobby. Just hot chocolate, coffee, and a table beside a window.

Dominic arrived ten minutes early.

Of course he did.

I watched him through the glass before I opened the door with the twins. He wasn’t wearing a suit, and that surprised me more than anything else that week. Dark sweater. Winter coat. No tie. For the first time in years, he looked less like Dominic Hayward of Hayward Corporation and more like the man who had once spent an entire Saturday building me a bookshelf because we couldn’t afford the one I wanted.

He stood when we walked in.

Zara whispered, “He’s tall.”

“So are you going to be.”

“Cool.”

Dominic smiled nervously. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Zara said.

Eli gave a small wave.

We sat down.

For five full minutes, the conversation was agony. Dominic asked about school. Zara said, “Fine.” He asked Eli about his drawings. Eli said, “I like drawing.”

Then nobody spoke.

Finally, Zara rescued everyone.

“Do you like pancakes?”

Dominic looked confused. “Yes.”

“What kind?”

“Blueberry.”

She nodded approvingly. “Good.”

Eli studied him. “Mom said you own hotels.”

“A few.”

“How many?”

Dominic hesitated. “A lot.”

“Do you know everyone who works in them?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know if they’re doing their jobs?”

Dominic glanced at me. I lifted my coffee. This was his problem now.

“People help me,” he said.

“Like teachers?”

“Sort of.”

Eli considered this. “Sounds complicated.”

“It is.”

For the first time, Dominic laughed. Not the polished laugh I’d heard in interviews. A real one. And just like that, the air in the café changed.

He reached into his coat and pulled out Eli’s napkin drawing, flattened and pressed between two sheets of clear plastic.

“You kept it?” Eli asked.

“Yes.”

“It’s not even my best one.”

“I still like it.”

That mattered. I could see it in Eli’s face.

The visit lasted forty-five minutes. When we stood to leave, Dominic didn’t ask for more. He didn’t try to hug them. He simply said, “Thank you for meeting me.”

Zara smiled. “Maybe next time you can tell us about the biggest hotel.”

“I’d like that.”

Eli pulled on his gloves. “Can we see one?”

Dominic looked at me before answering. “Maybe someday.”

And that glance — that small, careful glance, checking with me before he promised my children anything — mattered more than any grand gesture could have.

He was learning.