Chapter Thirteen
1188 Words
David's fork clattered against his plate.
His mother looked up from her chicken, eyebrows raised. "You alright?"
He wasn't. His phone had buzzed in his pocket during dinner, and he'd ignored it once, twice—but the third time, something in his gut twisted. He pulled it out, thumbed it open, and the world tilted.
The blood drained from his face.
"David?" His mother's voice sharpened. She was half out of her chair now, watching his hand shake. "What is it?"
He couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. His thumb was frozen on the screen, hovering over a photo he never thought he'd see. Her face. That face. The one he'd loved, lost, mourned. And beside her—
"David, you're scaring me."
He shoved the phone across the table.
His mother picked it up, squinting at the screen. Then she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Oh my God."
"She's alive." His voice came out hoarse, cracked. "She's been alive this whole time."
"And—" His mother's eyes went wide. "Is that a child?"
"Yeah." He laughed, but it was bitter, broken. "That's my daughter, Mom."
She stared at him, then back at the phone. "Are you sure? David, are you—"
"I'm sure." He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing now, unable to sit still. His chest was tight, his mind spinning. "I'm sure. Look at her. She has my eyes. My—" He stopped, his throat closing. "She's mine."
His mother stood, moving toward him, but he backed away. He couldn't handle comfort right now. Not when his entire world had just imploded.
"Where is she?" his mother asked gently. "Where's Gia?"
David's jaw clenched. He scrolled down, reading the caption again. And again. The words blurred, but one name stood out like a brand.
"She's married," he said flatly.
"What?"
"She's married." His voice rose, anger bleeding through the shock. "To my boss. To Max f*****g Larson."
His mother's face went pale. "No."
"Yes." He slammed his fist on the table, rattling the dishes. "She disappeared. Let me think she was dead. And now she's what—sraying same house with my CEO? With my daughter?"
"David—"
"How dare she?" His voice cracked, raw with fury and hurt. "How dare she keep her from me?"
His mother reached for his arm, squeezing gently. "We'll figure this out, okay? We'll—"
"I'm going there."
"David—"
"Tomorrow. After work. I'm going to that house, and I'm getting my daughter back."
His mother's grip tightened. "Be careful. Please."
But David wasn't listening anymore. He was already planning. Already seeing it. The confrontation. The truth.
The reckoning.
---
The Larson estate loomed ahead, all wrought iron gates and marble columns. David parked his car with shaking hands, his heart hammering against his ribs. He hadn't slept. Hadn't eaten. He'd spent the entire night staring at that photo, memorizing his daughter's face, wondering what her voice sounded like.
Wondering if she even knew he existed.
He rang the doorbell, his finger pressing too hard, too long. A maid answered, her expression polite but wary.
"I'm here to see Gia," he said, voice tight.
"Mrs Larson is—"
"Tell her David's here."
The maid hesitated, then stepped aside. "Please, wait in the sitting room."
He followed her inside, but the moment she left, he couldn't sit. Couldn't stay still. He paced the length of the room, his hands curling into fists, his mind racing. What was he going to say? What was she going to say? Would she try to lie? Deny it?
Would she let him see his daughter?
Footsteps echoed from the staircase, light and quick. He turned, and there she was.
Gia.
She looked like a goddamn dream. Hair swept back, dressed in something soft and expensive, her skin glowing under the chandelier light. But it was her eyes that stopped him. Those eyes he used to know so well—now cold, guarded, furious.
Behind her, a small voice piped up. "Mama, I want a popsicle!"
David's heart stopped.
She was real. His daughter. Right there. Tiny and perfect and so close he could almost—
"No, baby," Gia said softly, not looking at him. "It's almost bedtime. How about yogurt instead?"
"Okay!" The little girl—Sharon, he'd read her name was Sharon—ran toward the kitchen, her ponytail bouncing.
And then Gia's gaze landed on him.
Her expression turned to stone.
"What are you doing here?"
"Hello to you too, Gia."
She descended the stairs slowly, every step deliberate, her jaw tight. "I asked you a question."
"I came for my child." His voice was steady, but his hands weren't. "I came for her."
Gia's laugh was sharp, humorless. "Your child?"
"Don't do that." He stepped closer. "Don't you dare do that. You know she's mine."
"I don't owe you anything, David."
"You owe me everything!" His voice cracked, louder than he intended. "You disappeared, Gia! You let me think you were dead! And now I find out you've been here, living like—like this?" He gestured around the room. "With him?"
Her face flushed with anger. "You don't get to come here and—"
"How dare you?" he interrupted, his voice shaking. "How dare you hide her from me? How dare you marry my boss?"
"Get out."
"I'm not leaving without her."
"Oh, yes, you are."
The sound of a door opening broke the tension. Footsteps, heavier this time. Confident.
Max Larson walked in, still in his work suit, tie loosened. He looked every bit the man in control—until his eyes landed on David.
"David." His voice was calm, measured. "What's going on?"
David's throat tightened. This was his boss. The man who signed his checks. The man who was apparently married to the mother of his child.
"Sir, I—" He swallowed hard. "I came to see Mrs Larson"
"Daddy!" Sharon ran back into the room, yogurt in hand, and threw herself at Max's legs.
David watched, his chest caving in, as Max crouched down and kissed her cheek.
"Hey, princess. That looks good."
"It is!" She giggled, then ran off again.
Max stood, his gaze shifting between David and Gia. "Someone want to tell me what's happening?"
Gia moved before David could speak. She crossed the room, her hand sliding around Max's arm, her lips brushing his cheek.
"I'll explain later, babe," she murmured. "Go freshen up. I'll handle this."
David stared, stunned.
Max's eyes lingered on her, then on David. "Alright." He kissed her forehead. "Don't be long."
And then he was gone.
Gia turned back to David, and for the first time, he saw something flicker in her eyes.
Fear.
"You need to leave," she said quietly.
"Not until we talk."
"There's nothing to talk about."
"She's my daughter, Gia."
Her face crumpled for just a second—just long enough for him to see the truth.
Then she straightened, her walls slamming back into place.
"Get out, David. Before I make you."
But he wasn't going anywhere.
Not without answers.
Not without his daughter
- Writer
