Chapter 292: Don't Daddies Want To Be Daddies?

Chapter 292: Don't Daddies Want To Be Daddies?
James stared at the sign, his expression a mixture of confusion and dawning understanding.

"Harper?" he called, knocking gently. "It's James. Can I come in?"

"No!" came the muffled reply.

James cleared his throat. "I'm not James! I'm... the pizza delivery guy!"

Silence.

"I'm Santa Claus!"

Nothing.

"I'm the royal unicorn knight!"

"LIAR!" Harper shouted through the door. "You're mean James! I have superpowers and can see through disguises! Unless you turn into a frog, you can't come in!"

James glanced at me with desperate eyes. I gestured encouragingly. With a deep sigh, he crouched down and began making pathetic croaking sounds while slapping the floor with his palms.

"Ribbit! Ribbit!"

"That's the worst frog ever!" Harper yelled. "Real frogs go 'RIBBBBBIT-RIBBBBBIT' not 'ribbit-ribbit'! You failed the test!"

After several more failed attempts, including an offer to read three stories and build "the biggest LEGO castle in New York," James admitted defeat. He trudged back downstairs, his expensive suit now dusty and wrinkled, his tie hanging limply around his neck. His hair stood up in odd directions from running his hands through it in frustration.

"I think I'll head home and work on my 'fixing the parent-child relationship' strategy for tomorrow," he said, attempting to smile. "This is concerning."

I nodded, straightening his tie. "Good idea. And if that doesn't work, you might want to consider actually turning into a frog."

"I'll add it to my list of contingency plans," he replied with a weak laugh. "Right after 'learn to make convincing frog sounds.'"



The apartment door had barely clicked shut behind James when I heard the patter of small feet descending the stairs. Both children reappeared, making a beeline for their abandoned clay creations as if nothing had happened.

I crossed my arms, watching them settle back into their play. "Did you two hide James somewhere? I can't find him."

Both heads shook vigorously.

"We don't want to hide him!" Harper declared, squishing blue clay between her fingers.

I sat on the floor beside them, crossing my legs. "Then why were my sweethearts suddenly treating him like he has cooties?"

Theo pressed his lips together, using his toe to trace invisible patterns on the hardwood floor. "Because he's a big fat liar."

Harper nodded emphatically, hands on her hips in a perfect imitation of righteous indignation. "Yeah! Big liars don't deserve Harper's Super Special Friendship Card!"

I blinked, startled by the vehemence in their voices. Whatever had happened was clearly serious in their minds.

"Babies, whatever's bothering you, you can tell Mommy, okay?" I softened my voice, reaching out to stroke Theo's hair.

The twins exchanged one of their telepathic looks, having a silent conversation only they could understand.

"If you don't tell me," I said, pulling out my secret weapon, "Mommy will be super duper sad. Sadder than losing my favorite chocolate ice cream sad."

Theo bit his lip so hard I worried he might draw blood. "Why do you lie, Mom? You had the big secret first."

Before I could process that, Harper blurted out: "Yeah! Why did you lie to us? James isn't our uncle—he's our real daddy!" She immediately slapped both hands over her mouth, eyes wide with the realization she'd spilled the secret.

My heart stopped. "You... you know about that?"

Theo's eyes filled with tears, but he fought to maintain his serious expression. "So it is true? We didn't guess wrong?"

"I told you I was right," Harper muttered. "I'm super smart."

I pulled them both into my arms, my mind racing. "Yes, James is your biological father. But Mommy wasn't trying to trick you... it's complicated. Where did you hear this?"

"At the big, big house," Theo said, his small shoulders squared with determination. "James's grandpa's house."

Oh god.

"Tell me exactly what happened," I said, trying to keep my voice steady despite the panic rising in my chest.



Theo's face scrunched in concentration as he recounted the story. "We were playing hide-and-seek in the garden, and I was hiding behind a big bush."

"The one with the blue flowers," Harper added helpfully.

"Yeah, and then two ladies who work there came and stood really close to me. They didn't see me 'cause I'm super good at hiding."

I nodded, encouraging him to continue.

"One lady said, 'Look at those children over there. I hear they're James’s little treasures. No wonder that boy is basically a mini James.'"

My stomach clenched. Of course the staff would gossip—the resemblance between Theo and James was undeniable.

"And the other lady said, 'Yes, those eyes and that chin, just like seeing his childhood photos. James's genes are really strong.'"

Theo paused, looking at me accusingly. "So I told Harper, and we started thinking about it. James is super nice to us and brings us presents and fixes my robots when they break. And—and I do look like him! Everyone always says so!"

"But why didn't you tell us?" Harper demanded, her little face a storm of confusion. "And why didn't he tell us? Don't daddies want to be daddies?"

The raw hurt in her voice broke my heart. I struggled to find words that could explain six years of complicated history to five-year-olds.

"Sometimes grown-ups make mistakes," I began carefully. "Not because we want to hurt you, but because we're trying to figure out the best way to do things."

"But lying is wrong," Theo insisted, his moral compass firmly fixed. "You always tell us that."

"You're right," I admitted. "It was wrong not to tell you. I just wanted to wait until you were a little older to understand. It's a grown-up story with some sad parts."

Harper's eyes widened. "Is it because our daddy didn't want us? Pop-pop said James is a heart-breaker and a liar and that's why we lived so far away for so long."

I nearly choked. "Pop-pop said what? When?"

The scene they described made my blood boil. They'd been at my father's house two days ago when I was at James’s office, innocently eating ice cream in his kitchen.

"Pop-pop, do you know James?" Harper had asked, swinging her legs under the table.

My father had nearly dropped his coffee mug. "James Thornton? That man?"

Theo had nodded enthusiastically. "He's super tall and his car can turn into a rocket ship and he does magic tricks!"

According to the twins, my father's face had darkened immediately. He'd muttered words like "heartless" and "deceiver" under his breath.

"Pop-pop, why are you mad? Did James do something bad?" Harper had asked.

And then my father—my own father—had said the unforgivable: "If it weren't for that man abandoning your mother, you wouldn't have spent so many years in London, so far away from me. He doesn't deserve to be your—"