Chapter 4: The Woman Behind The Warning
I didn’t sleep.
Not because I wasn’t tired.
Because every time I closed my eyes, I saw that picture.
Jordan holding a little girl.
Jordan standing beside Alyssa.
Jordan living a life I knew nothing about.
But now there was another question.
One sentence that wouldn’t leave my mind.
*Ask him who was standing beside him the night his son disappeared.*
Disappeared.
Not left.
Not moved away.
Not went somewhere.
Disappeared.
The word sat there like a threat.
I spent the rest of the night staring at my phone, waiting for another message.
None came.
At six in the morning, I finally got up.
The apartment looked exactly the same as it had the day before.
That was the strangest part.
The world didn’t change when your heart broke.
The coffee machine still worked.
The sunlight still came through the window.
Cars still drove down the street.
Everything continued.
Even when you felt like you had stopped.
I walked into the kitchen and saw the paper my father left behind.
The address form.
Jordan’s name.
Alyssa’s name.
Evidence of a life he never shared.
I picked it up and folded it carefully.
Not because I wanted to keep it.
Because I needed proof I wasn’t imagining everything.
At 8:15, my phone rang.
Jordan.
I let it ring.
Then again.
And again.
Finally, a message appeared.
*Please talk to me.*
I stared at it.
Then typed:
*Where are you?*
The reply came quickly.
*Outside your building.*
My chest tightened.
I walked to the window.
And there he was.
Standing beside his car.
Looking up toward my apartment.
For two years, seeing Jordan outside my window would have made me smile.
Today, it made me nervous.
My phone rang again.
I answered.
“What are you doing here?””
“I told you I wanted to talk.””
“I told you I needed space.””
“I know.””
“Then why are you here?””
His voice softened.
“Because I’m scared.””
That surprised me.
Jordan was rarely afraid.
He was the person who always knew what to say.
The person who could turn any uncomfortable moment into a joke.
But now?
He sounded lost.
“Come upstairs,” I said.
A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door.
I stood there for several seconds before opening it.
When I did, I almost didn’t recognize him.
Not because he looked different.
Because I looked at him differently.
The same face.
The same eyes.
The same man.
But now I knew there were rooms inside him I had never been allowed to enter.
“Nia.””
I stepped aside.
He walked in slowly.
His eyes moved around the apartment.
The couch.
The kitchen.
The photos.
The little pieces of our relationship.
Then his expression changed.
Like he realized he might lose all of it.
“I’m sorry.””
I stayed standing.
“For what?””
“For everything.””
“That’s a big answer.””
“I know.””
“No, you don’t.””
My voice was calm.
That scared me.
Because yesterday I was angry.
Today I was tired.
And tired was worse.
“Sit down.””
He did.
I sat across from him.
There was a distance between us that had never existed before.
A distance he created.
“Tell me everything.””
He nodded.
“I should have told you about my kids.””
“Yes.””
“I should have told you about Alyssa.””
“Yes.””
“I should have been honest about my situation.””
“Yes.””
He looked down.
“I know.””
“Then why didn’t you?””
He rubbed his hands together.
A nervous habit I had seen before.
But never understood.
“When I met you, I was coming out of the worst period of my life.””
I didn’t interrupt.
“My relationship with Alyssa ended badly. We were young. We had kids too soon. We fought constantly.””
“How old were you?””
“Twenty-two.””
“And you had two children?””
“Yes.””
I nodded slowly.
“So what happened?””
“She left.””
“Why?””
His eyes moved away.
“Because she said I wasn’t responsible enough.””
I almost laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because the irony was painful.
“And was she right?””
He looked at me.
“I made mistakes.””
“That wasn’t my question.””
A long silence.
Then:
“Yes.””
The honesty caught me off guard.
For a second, I saw the man I fell in love with.
The man who admitted when he was wrong.
But then I remembered everything he had hidden.
“What happened after she left?””
“I tried to fix things.””
“With her?””
“With my children.””
I nodded.
“Then why didn’t you tell me?””
“Because when I met you, I wanted to be someone different.””
I frowned.
“What does that mean?””
“It means every time I looked at you, I saw the person I could have been.””
“That doesn’t answer my question.””
He swallowed.
“I was embarrassed.””
“Embarrassed about your children?””
“No.””
“Then what?””
“About failing.””
The answer was quiet.
Real.
But it didn’t erase anything.
“You should have trusted me enough to tell me.””
“I know.””
“You didn’t.””
“I know.””
“You let me think you were starting fresh.””
“I was trying.””
“By pretending your past didn’t exist?””
He looked down.
“I thought if I told you everything, you’d see me differently.””
“I do see you differently.””
His face fell.
The silence that followed was painful.
Then I asked:
“Who sent me the picture?””
Jordan immediately looked uncomfortable.
“I don’t know.””
“You’re lying.””
“I’m not.””
“You knew the second I mentioned it.””
He looked away.
“Nia.””
“Who is she?””
He sighed.
“Alyssa’s sister.””
I froze.
“Alyssa has a sister?””
“Yes.””
“And she has my number because?””
“She used to.””
“Used to?””
Jordan looked uncomfortable.
“Years ago, before I met you, she helped us with some paperwork.””
“What paperwork?””
He didn’t answer.
I leaned forward.
“Jordan.””
“Custody paperwork.””
The room became quiet.
“What kind of custody paperwork?””
He looked at me.
“The kind you’re thinking.””
My stomach tightened.
“You lost custody?””
“No.””
“Then?””
“My son was taken from me temporarily.””
The unknown message flashed through my mind.
The night his son disappeared.
“Why?””
Jordan looked toward the window.
“Because Alyssa accused me of something.””
“What?””
He hesitated.
And that hesitation scared me.
“What did she accuse you of?””
“I don’t want to talk about this without the documents.””
“Why?””
“Because it’s complicated.””
I stood up.
“No.””
Jordan looked up.
“No?””
“I’m done with that word.””
“Nia—”
“You keep saying complicated when the truth would be easier.””
“I’m trying to protect you.””
“From what?””
He didn’t answer.
I walked toward the counter and grabbed my phone.
“I’m meeting her.””
Jordan stood immediately.
“Who?””
“Alyssa’s sister.””
His face changed.
“No.””
I stared at him.
“No?””
“You can’t trust her.””
“Why?””
“Because she hates me.””
“Maybe she has a reason.””
His expression hardened.
“You don’t know what she’s like.””
“And you do?””
“Yes.””
“Because?””
He went silent.
That silence was enough.
“Because you knew she might contact me.””
“I was hoping she wouldn’t.””
I stared at him.
“You knew.””
“I knew she was angry.””
“You knew she had my number.””
“Yes.””
“And you still didn’t tell me?””
His shoulders dropped.
“I was afraid.””
There it was again.
The same excuse.
Fear.
Fear.
Fear.
I picked up my jacket.
“Where are you going?””
“To meet someone who might finally tell me the truth.””
“Nia.””
I stopped at the door.
Jordan’s voice cracked.
“Please don’t let her turn you against me.””
I looked back.
“I’m not asking her to.””
“Then what are you doing?””
I held his gaze.
“I’m asking her to tell me why you gave me only half a story.””
I left.
The café was twenty minutes away.
I arrived early.
I didn’t know what I expected.
A villain.
Someone angry.
Someone dramatic.
Instead, the woman sitting near the window looked exhausted.
She stood when she saw me.
“Nia?””
I nodded.
“You’re Kara?””
“Yes.””
She looked around nervously.
Then sat down.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Finally, she pushed a folder across the table.
“I know you probably hate me for contacting you like that.””
“I don’t know you.””
“That’s fair.””
I looked at the folder.
“What is this?””
“Proof.””
“Of what?””
Her eyes filled with something between anger and sadness.
“Of what Jordan did before he met you.””
I opened the folder.
The first page was a legal document.
The second was a photograph.
The third was a newspaper clipping.
Then I saw the date.
And the headline.
My hands went cold.
Because the story wasn’t about Jordan losing his son.
It was about something much worse.
At the bottom of the article was a name.
A name I had never heard before.
May you like
*Marcus Bennett.*
My father.