68 Chapter 68 Secret Son Revealed
“Look at that scene,” Roxanne’s voice cut through the air, low and bitter, dripping with frost. “See how content they are together.”
“I didn’t return because I enjoy being here, Roxanne,” I stated, maintaining an even tone. “I want to leave this place just as much as you want me gone.”
I found a secluded corridor and quickly entered the number I knew perfectly. It rang
twice.
“What kind?” she asked, waiting.
“Hello? Jenkins residence.”
“Nothing serious,” I lied hastily. “I just need help. A significant favor.”
This marked my first encounter with his daughter, though encounter wasn’t quite accurate. I simply observed from my hiding place.
She exhaled and studied my expression. Her typically warm demeanor softened into something more concerned. “Hey. You look ready to break down. What’s wrong?”
Thank goodness he had never questioned me about his father. If he ever did, I would have no idea how to respond.
I fought against the urge to investigate. I genuinely tried to remain seated. Yet the sound pulled at me like an invisible force, and before I realized it, my feet were carrying me toward the field.
She matched my pace effortlessly. “They experienced happiness before your return, Seraphina. Everything functioned perfectly. That little girl possessed a stable home with parents who weren’t constantly at war.”
How could I possibly explain that I made a decision that protected him, while simultaneously ensuring he would forever lack something this essential?
“Think whatever makes you feel better,” I said, turning my back completely on her. “I am leaving.”
I wasn’t paying attention to my path, still blinded by the image of Julian and his daughter.
Seraphina’s POV
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She resumed running and managed to score against another player. The laugh that escaped her illuminated her entire expression. Witnessing that small, precious moment, Julian’s own face brightened with matching joy.
I felt someone’s presence behind me the instant those words escaped my lips.
Several people occupied the space, but my attention fixed on only two figures.
As I approached the area, I ducked behind a massive oak tree to avoid being spotted. Carefully, I peered around the trunk.
“Penelope, I’m terribly sorry,” I stammered.
I attempted to reason with myself. Seraphina, you cannot possibly feel envious of a five-year-old child. Yet I couldn’t suppress the emotion. My jealousy wasn’t directed at the girl herself, but at what she represented. The pure, uncomplicated experience of a father’s open love for his child.
I had robbed him of these moments. He would never experience this feeling. My precious boy would never know that somewhere he had a father who would regard him with such complete, unconditional love.
A gentle, familiar voice answered.
Penelope hesitated briefly. She reached into her pocket and produced her phone. “Return it quickly. And don’t mention to the Alpha that I allowed this.”
“I need access to a phone,” I said, pressing my palms together pleadingly. “I have to make a call outside the pack territory. Could I borrow yours? Just for a few minutes?”
I halted and faced her directly. I was finished with running away.
“Thank you,” I exhaled gratefully. The device felt heavy and foreign in my palm.
I had stolen this from my son.
They formed an absolutely perfect team. Their movements synchronized beautifully, even when distance separated them. Whenever she tumbled onto the grass, which happened frequently, he didn’t merely call out instructions to stand up. Instead, he rushed to her side immediately, concern written across his features. Gently, he brushed grass from her small knees and pressed a kiss to her forehead before helping
her back to her feet.
“You have a son???”
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This was different. Joyful noise filled with bright calls and high-pitched giggles echoing from the open field behind the pack house. While such sounds were commonplace here, and as a parent I could identify them anywhere, something about these particular voices felt strangely familiar.
That broke my remaining patience. I no longer cared about maintaining politeness or avoiding confrontation. I didn’t want this discussion. I refused to let her accusations compound the terrible guilt already consuming me.
Looking up, I found Penelope rubbing her forehead where we’d connected.
Roxanne.
The scene caused a sharp ache in my soul. Raw, searing pain bloomed deep within my
chest.
I quickly wiped my face with my sleeve and attempted to retreat. I recognized this meant trouble, and I felt too emotionally drained for conflict. I began walking, hoping
to escape.
I continued watching. I observed how they completed each other. She required his comfort during her falls. He seemed to need her happiness to feel truly whole.
I’d heard various tones from him before – amusement, mockery, even menace. But never had I witnessed laughter like this. The sound emerged deep and unrestrained, causing his eyes to wrinkle at the edges. His entire posture appeared completely at ease, as though some enormous burden had been removed from his shoulders.
I walked quickly, heading directly for the pack house’s rear entrance. I needed solitude. I needed to contact someone who could remind me that my life, the one I’d built far from this place, was genuine.
I kept moving, attempting to ignore her presence.
“Mr. Jenkins? This is Seraphina. Is everything alright? Is my son safe?” I whispered urgently into the phone, desperate for reassurance.
He radiated joy and freedom. He looked exactly like what he was – a devoted father.
The sounds drifting from outside drew me away from my corner like a spell I couldn’t break. These weren’t the harsh, argumentative voices of pack members that I’d grown accustomed to blocking out during my time here.
I collided forcefully with someone rounding the corner. The impact nearly knocked me
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over.
But my reflexes weren’t quick enough.
I didn’t need to look. The distinctive scent and cold aura were instantly recognizable.
Her expression twisted with disdain. “Then why haven’t you left already? Go back to whatever life you abandoned.”
Then the tears began, silent and unstoppable, streaming down my face before I could prevent them.
Julian stood there. Beside him bounced a tiny girl, perhaps five years old, with brilliant blonde hair that danced around her radiant face. She attempted to kick a vivid red soccer ball, stumbling more often than she ran, yet clearly cherishing every moment.
Julian was genuinely laughing.
While I remained trapped in this awful cycle of guilt and remorse, watching the sun sink behind the most joyful scene I’d witnessed in months, I sensed someone approaching my position.
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