#Chapter 6- His Name

Kingston The moment I heard the word "Dad,” everything around me paused. The noise in the restaurant, the chatter of families, the clink of silverware—all of it faded. None of it mattered but that one word and the little boy who had said it. I turned slowly as the bullying children scattered, unsure of what I expected to see. The speaker stunned me immediately into stillness. It was the boy from earlier—the one who’d nearly fallen down the stairs at the doctor’s office—was looking right at me. Riley. His big eyes, still damp with tears, stared up at me, a flicker of recognition and confusion flashing across his face. “Why did you call me that?” I asked. I crouched down so I was eye-level with him. He blinked and looked away awkwardly. “Your shirt,” he said softly, tugging at the edge of his own. “My dad used to wear shirts like that.” Used to. My chest tightened over this little detail, but I forced myself to keep my voice calm. “But I’m not your dad.” Riley nodded solemnly. “I know. I thought… maybe, for a second.” He hesitated. “But he’s not my dad anymore. I don’t have one now.” Something about the way he said it—so resigned, so casual in his heartbreak—made my wolf stir uncomfortably under my skin. Not angry. Not protective. Just… anxious. I didn’t know this kid. I’d only seen him once before. It had all happened so fast: him falling from a set of steps, his mother’s frightened lunge forward, and my body moving before I even processed why. Yet something in that moment had reacted in me like he belonged. Maybe it was because he was so young and innocent. Those kids who bullied him earlier had seen him for the easy target he was. A boy as bashful and kind as him would soon get beaten down by the world. “Do you like ice cream?” I asked, standing slowly and walking toward the ice cream counter at the far side of the restaurant. It seemed like the best thing to do for both of us, an easy way to deflect and cheer the kid up. Riley followed, rubbing his eyes. “Yeah. Of course I love ice cream.” “What flavor?” “Pistachio,” he said without hesitation. “But everyone always eats it first.” I scanned the ice cream case nearby. There, tucked in the far corner, was the last pistachio cone. I pointed to it, ready to order, but Riley tugged at my sleeve. “There’s only one left. You can have it,” he offered, voice still quiet and somewhat shy. “I don’t mind.” I turned to him, surprised. “You sure?” He nodded. “You look sad, too.” I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped me. Small, dry, but genuine. “I don’t like ice cream much,” I said. “It’s all yours.” His eyes lit up. “Really? That’s so weird.” “Yeah, well. You’ll understand when you’re old and grumpy.” He giggled and accepted the cone happily. The tension in my shoulders loosened for the first time all day. As we sat, the restaurant manager came over, beaming. “Mr. Ashford! I didn’t know you were dining here today. Please, have a dessert on the house.” He set down a fancy plate with mango slices carved into roses. Riley’s eyes went wide. “That’s mango.” “Do you like mango?” I asked. “I do,” he said, almost wistfully. “But Mommy says I can’t have it. I get all swollen and itchy when I do.” My jaw tensed. “You're allergic?” He nodded, licking his cone. “Mommy says even smelling it too long is bad.” Strange. I was the exact same way. Being allergic to mangoes wasn’t common. In fact, I didn’t know anyone else who was. The coincidence made my stomach shift. Before I could ask more, I heard hurried footsteps. I looked up and saw her. My new secretary. My one-night lover. Cora. She paused just inside the restaurant, her eyes darting to me—then to Riley. She didn’t come over immediately. Instead, she stood there, watching us, and for a moment, I wondered what she was thinking. But then she blinked hard, shook her head like pushing away a thought, and began walking toward us. *** Cora Riley beamed when he saw me. “Mommy! He stood up for me!” My throat felt tight. Maybe it was because of how closely Kingston and Riley resembled a father and son. And now Riley had no father. “He did?” I asked. Kingston stood slowly, looking a bit uncomfortable for the first time. “Some kids were teasing him. I told them to back off,” he said. I looked at him for a long moment. My voice was quiet, polite. “That was very kind. Thank you.” He nodded. “No problem.” Riley tugged on my sleeve. “They said I didn’t have a dad. But it’s okay. I have you.” My lips trembled for a second before I smiled, blinking quickly.“Yes, honey. You have me.” A mix of relief, sadness, and urgency made me eager to leave. “Thank you again,” I said to Kingston. “But we should go.” We had to get home quickly. I couldn’t shake the phone call I had just had. “No problem,” he said gruffly, though it looked like he wanted to say more. I grabbed Riley’s hand and pulled him from the restaurant. By the time we got home, I was practically vibrating with nervous energy. The call from the hospital still echoed in my mind. A potential match has been found for Riley’s biological father. Please bring the report for confirmation. It could finally be over—the not knowing, the confusion, the strange questions Riley had started to ask about where he came from. But first, I needed the report. I tore through drawers, overturned bags, and even checked the fridge twice like a lunatic. It was nowhere. I knew I had shown it to Daisy. She’d even seemed unconvinced when I suggested that the donor might be an athlete. I could remember her expression vividly. I called her. Straight to voicemail again. I texted her: Have you seen the sperm donor report? It’s gone. I need it. Please answer. No reply. Panic was starting to swell inside me. There was only one way to quell this frantic feeling. I grabbed my keys and rushed to the hospital. The receptionist recognized me. I practically begged to see the same doctor. I exhaustedly explained my situation before being told to wait for the doctor after he was finished with his patient. After what felt like an hour, he finally appeared, adjusting his glasses and looking extremely tired. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Without the original report, we can’t legally give out any personal information. It's a privacy issue.” “But I have proof of payment!” I shoved the receipt toward him. “You know this was an IVF mistake. And you know that Riley has… complications.” I shifted uncomfortably on my feet, feeling oddly shameful. “You saw the strange results on his last blood test, and I just—” My voice cracked. “I just want to know who his father is.” The doctor sighed, then looked at me again, this time not as a professional, but as a human being. No one could bear to see a mother who loved her child this much in such despair. “A name,” I whispered. “That’s all I’m asking.” Silence stretched between us. Finally, he blew out an exasperated breath, running an exasperated hand through his hair. The doctor leaned in, voice low. “Alright, Cora. Just a name. That’s all I can give you.”