It had been three days since I gave Logan the paternity test. Three days of silence, of wondering what he was thinking, what he would do now that the truth was finally out.
Then, on the fourth day, he called.
“Emma,” his voice came through the line, quieter than usual. “Can we meet? I want to talk.”
We met at the park again, under the same oak tree. This time, Logan looked different. He wasn’t weighed down by confusion or disbelief. Instead, there was a kind of clarity in his eyes, as though he had finally come to terms with something that had been tearing him apart for weeks.
“I talked to Vanessa,” he said without preamble as he sat down on the bench beside me.
I stayed quiet, letting him speak.
“She admitted it,” he continued, his voice low. “She said she was scared, that she didn’t know how to handle everything with the professor. She thought if she told me the baby was mine, I’d... protect her.”
His words hung in the air, and I could hear the conflict in his tone.
“And what did you say?” I asked softly.
“I told her I’d still be there for the baby,” he said, his jaw tightening. “I can’t just walk away from an innocent kid, Emma. But I also told her I can’t keep pretending that what we had was real. I can’t keep lying to myself, or to you.”
I felt a lump rise in my throat, my hands clenching in my lap. “Logan...”
He turned to me, his eyes searching mine. “I was angry at you, Emma. For so many things. For Caleb, for not telling me about the pregnancy, for how messy everything got between us. But when I think about why I was so angry, it’s because I still care. I never stopped. I want you.”
I nodded, tears welling up in my eyes. We sat there for a while, just taking in the moment.
Tears streamed down my face as I pulled him close, our lips meeting in a tender, passionate kiss - a seal of our rekindled love and commitment.