Chasing His Divorced Wife And His Child

Chapter 6

COLIN’S POV

She says no, and something in my chest tightens in a way I can’t explain, like her answer doesn’t match what I’m seeing.

I almost let it go, but the feeling doesn’t settle. It just sits there, wrong and heavy, like I’m missing something obvious and it’s right in front of me.

So instead of arguing, I watch her.

The way she stands isn’t normal. She keeps shifting, small movements that shouldn’t mean anything, but I see it now, every time I move, she adjusts, placing herself between me and the kid like she’s controlling how much I’m allowed to see.

My chest tightens, like something’s off and I can’t explain it.

A quiet frustration builds, mixed with something sharper I can’t name, and before I think too much about it, I say, “You’re hiding him.”

“I’m not hiding anything,” she replies quickly, but there’s an edge in her voice now.

I step to the side, watching closely, and when she moves immediately to block me again, something in me settles into certainty.

“You are,” I say. “You moved the second I did without even thinking.”

“I would move no matter who it was,” she shoots back, but there’s tension underneath.

“That’s not true,” I tell her, shaking my head. “If this was nothing, you wouldn’t be reacting like this.”

Her jaw tightens, and I catch the shift before she looks away.

“You don’t know what’s true,” she says, but her voice isn’t steady.

I drag a hand through my hair, trying to ground myself. “No, I don’t, and that’s the problem, because none of this feels right.”

She stills for a second, then forces herself to move again.

“Then stop acting like you do,” she says.

“I’m not acting like I know,” I reply, frustration slipping through. “I’m reacting to what I see, and it doesn’t match what you’re saying.”

“You’re reading into things that aren’t there.”

“Then let me see properly,” I say, holding her gaze.

“No.”

It comes too fast, and my chest tightens again.

I shift again, slower this time, watching her carefully, and she reacts the same way, stepping in front of him without thinking.

Yeah, it’s not nothing, and I feel it settle in my chest.

“You’re lying,” I say quietly.

“I’m not lying,” she insists, but I hear the strain.

“You are,” I tell her. “The more you deny it, the more obvious it gets.”

“I said I’m not.”

“You hesitated.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did,” I say, more firmly, something heavier settling in my chest.

For a second, it looks like she might say something real, but she doesn’t, and before she can block me again, I shift, and this time I see him.

Everything in me just stops.

He’s small, standing close to her, holding onto her like that’s where he belongs. He doesn’t hide, doesn’t look away, he just looks straight at me.

My chest tightens, sharp and unfamiliar, like something just pulled tight inside me and I don’t know why.

I don’t understand it, and that makes it worse, because I can’t ignore it.

I drag in a slow breath, trying to steady myself, but the feeling doesn’t go away.

“Nadia,” I say, my voice lower now, “look at him for a second and tell me this is nothing.”

“I don’t need to look at him,” she replies quickly, but I can hear the strain.

“Then stop pretending you don’t see what I’m seeing.”

“Which is what?” she snaps. “There’s nothing to see.”

“That’s not true.”

“You don’t get to decide that.”

“I’m not deciding,” I say, exhaling sharply. “I’m trying to figure out why this feels so wrong, and the more I look at him, the worse it gets.”

She goes still again, just for a second, but I catch it.

“You’re making it something it’s not.”

“Then tell me what it is,” I push. “Because standing here pretending nothing is happening isn’t working.”

“I don’t owe you that.”

“Maybe not,” I say, quieter now, “but avoiding it isn’t fixing anything either.”

Her shoulders tense.

“Why are you doing this?” she asks. “Why are you pushing like this?”

“Because you’re not acting like someone who has nothing to hide,” I answer. “You’re reacting like I just walked in on something I wasn’t supposed to see.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means enough.”

Silence stretches between us.

Behind her, the kid shifts slightly, pressing closer, but his eyes stay on me.

There’s no fear, no hesitation, just quiet focus like he’s trying to figure me out, and my chest tightens again.

“What’s his name?” I ask, softer now.

“That’s not your concern.”

“What’s his name?” I repeat.

“Stop asking.”

I let out a breath. “What’s his name, Nadia? Just answer me.”

She exhales. “Noah.”

The name settles in my chest, like it belongs there and I don’t understand why.

I repeat it before I can stop myself. “Noah.”

He reacts, just slightly, but I catch it, and for some reason, it matters more than it should.

“How old is he?” I ask.

She hesitates, and that tells me everything.

“How old?” I press.

“Two.”

The number lands, and something in my head shifts, not clear, but enough to make everything feel worse.

I look at her, my chest tightening.

“You were pregnant when you left, weren’t you?” I ask, quieter now.

She doesn’t respond, and she doesn’t have to.

The silence already says everything.

“You knew,” I say, more to myself. “You knew and you didn’t tell me.”

Something in her snaps.

“You didn’t notice,” she fires back. “You didn’t notice anything, so don’t act like this is on me.”

“I’m not saying it is,” I reply, quieter now. “I’m saying I didn’t know.”

“That’s the same thing,” she shoots back. “You were there, and you still didn’t see anything.”

I don’t respond because I can’t, and something about the way she says it feels real in a way I can’t ignore.

Noah shifts again, his fingers tightening in her clothes, but his attention doesn’t leave me.

I look at him again, really look this time, at the way he stands, the way he watches me, the way he doesn’t pull away, and something in my chest tightens.

That feeling comes back, stronger now.

“I don’t understand this,” I say, quieter this time.

“That’s not my problem,” she replies.

“Maybe not,” I admit, “but it doesn’t make it go away.”

She doesn’t answer, and the silence settles heavier between us until he finally moves, taking a small, careful step forward.

Nadia reacts instantly, her hand tightening like she’s about to pull him back, but she stops herself.

He takes another step, slow and careful, like he isn’t afraid, just unsure.

I don’t move or speak, I just watch him.

He stops a few feet away from me, close enough now that I can see him clearly, his eyes locked on mine.

Behind him, Nadia goes completely still.

“Mommy…” Noah says softly.

“I’m here,” she answers immediately, but her voice is tight.

He doesn’t look at her.

He keeps looking at me.

And something in my chest tightens again, harder this time.

The silence stretches, heavy.

“Daddy.”

Hearing Noah say it in that soft voice almost makes me cry.