Her arms wrap around me, her head resting in the crook of my neck, "I don't hate you. I don't. But I'm just as tattered and torn inside, Morris. I was scared of trusting you, of trusting my heart to you again. I had so much more to lose this time around."
I try to say something, but she pulls back, and I see tears in her eyes and a softness in her smile, "I want you to meet someone."
She gets up, and when she walks out of the room, my heart thuds uncomfortably, wondering who it is that she's going to bring. Is it someone else back from the dead?
When she returns, she's not alone. Behind her, holding her hand, is a small child with Aisha's light green eyes and dark hair. His features are unmistakable. I sit there frozen in shock.
Our child?
She had my child?
How is - How is that possi
