I didn't contact Daniel that night.
I barely slept.
The address sat inside my desk drawer, folded beneath the photograph of Teagan.
I kept opening the drawer and looking at it.
Six hours.
That was all.
Six hours between my grandson and the man who had known about his existence before he was born.
I had spent ten years wondering whether Daniel was dead, whether he had forgotten us, whether he had regretted leaving.
Now I knew where he lived.
Knowing was harder than wondering.
The next morning Lucas found me at the kitchen table.
“Did you call him?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because this is your decision too.”
He looked surprised.
“I thought you were going to tell him.”
“I was.”
“And now?”
“Now I think you should decide what you want.”
Lucas was quiet.
Finally he said, “I want him to know I'm here.”
That was all.
No demand.
No anger.
Just those words.
So I found Daniel's number.
My finger hovered over the call button.
Then I stopped.
Instead, I sent a message.
My name is Margaret. I am Teagan's mother. I believe you are Lucas's father. I need to speak with you.
The message showed as delivered.
No response came.
An hour passed.
Then two.
Lucas went to school.
I tried to keep myself busy.
At eleven forty-three, my phone vibrated.
One message.
Who is this?
I stared at the screen.
I typed my answer.
You knew Teagan. You were at the hospital when Lucas was born.
There was no reply.
Five minutes.
Ten.
Then the phone rang.
I answered.
Neither of us spoke immediately.
Finally, a man's voice said, “Is he alive?”
I closed my eyes.
“Yes.”
Daniel exhaled sharply.
“I knew he survived.”
“You knew?”
“I was told.”
“By whom?”
“A nurse.”
“Trudy?”
“Yes.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“You knew where we lived.”
“I knew the city.”
“You knew your son existed.”
“Yes.”
“And you never came.”
Silence.
Then he said, “I wanted to.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
“I know.”
His voice sounded older than I expected.
Not weak.
Not confident.
Just tired.
“I was seventeen,” he said.
“So was he when you became his father.”
“I know.”
“No, Daniel. You don't know what those ten years were like.”
“I know I wasn't there.”
“That isn't the same thing.”
“I know.”
I almost hung up.
Then he said something that stopped me.
“Does he hate me?”
I looked toward the hallway.
“No.”
There was a pause.
“He doesn't know you well enough to hate you.”
Daniel made a sound I couldn't identify.
Maybe a laugh.
Maybe pain.
“I deserved that.”
“You deserved the truth.”
“I know.”
I took a breath.
“Why did you stay away?”
He didn't answer immediately.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter.
“Because I thought Teagan wanted me gone.”
I stood.
“She told you to come back when you were ready.”
“I know.”
“She waited.”
“I know.”
“You don't sound like you knew.”
“I didn't understand what she meant.”
I looked at the photograph on the table.
“She wrote it down.”
“What?”
“A letter.”
Daniel went silent.
“She left it with someone.”
“Trudy?”
“Yes.”
He breathed out slowly.
“Then she kept her promise.”
I frowned.
“What promise?”
“She told me she would make sure you eventually understood.”
My chest tightened.
“Understood what?”
Daniel hesitated.
“That Teagan didn't blame me.”
I sat down.
“She didn't?”
“No.”
“Then why didn't she tell me?”
“Because she was afraid you'd blame me.”
I closed my eyes.
That sounded like my daughter.
Always protecting everyone else from the consequences of her own fear.
“Daniel,” I said, “there's something you need to know.”
“What?”
“Lucas knows about you.”
The line went silent.
“How?”
“He saw the photograph.”
“Oh.”
“He wants answers.”
Daniel swallowed.
“I can give them.”
“You don't get to decide that alone.”
“I understand.”
“You need to understand something else.”
“Okay.”
“If you meet him, you cannot disappear again.”
“I won't.”
“You cannot promise that just because you feel guilty.”
“I know.”
“And you cannot walk into his life expecting him to call you Dad.”
“I don't expect that.”
“Good.”
Another silence.
Then Daniel said, “Can I see him?”
I looked toward the stairs.
“I won't arrange it until I speak with him.”
“I understand.”
We ended the call.
For several minutes, I remained at the table.
Then I noticed something strange.
Daniel had not asked about Teagan.
Not once.
He had asked about Lucas.
That mattered.
When Lucas came home, I told him about the conversation.
He listened without interrupting.
“What did he sound like?”
“Older.”
Lucas smiled faintly.
“That's not what I meant.”
“I know.”
He sat down.
“Was he scared?”
“Yes.”
“Of me?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“Of everything he lost.”
Lucas looked at the floor.
“Did he say he was sorry?”
“Yes.”
“Did he make excuses?”
I thought about the conversation.
“No.”
That seemed to matter to him.
He nodded.
“I want to meet him.”
I reached across the table.
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“But I want to know.”
The meeting was arranged for the following Saturday.
Daniel agreed to come to town.
We chose a public place.
A quiet baseball field where Lucas often practiced.
When Saturday arrived, Lucas spent twenty minutes changing his shirt.
I pretended not to notice.
Finally, he came downstairs wearing the same jacket he had worn when we visited Teagan's grave.
“Ready?”
He nodded.
The field was empty when we arrived.
Cold wind moved across the grass.
Lucas stood near the dugout.
I watched the parking lot.
A silver car appeared.
It slowed.
Stopped.
A man stepped out.
Daniel.
For a moment, none of us moved.
He looked toward Lucas.
Lucas looked back.
Daniel's face changed.
He covered his mouth with one hand.
Then he walked toward us.
“I don't know what to say.”
Lucas stared at him.
“You could start with your name.”
Daniel gave a nervous smile.
“Daniel.”
“I know.”
Daniel nodded.
“I guess you do.”
He reached into his car and returned holding an old baseball glove.
Lucas noticed it immediately.
“What's that?”
Daniel looked down.
“It belonged to your mother.”
Lucas stepped closer.
“She gave it to you?”
Daniel shook his head.
“No.”
He looked at the glove.
“I found it in a box she left with me.”
Lucas stared at it.
“You had something of hers all this time?”
Daniel nodded.
Then he held the glove out.
“I should have brought it sooner.”
Lucas didn't take it.
He simply looked at the worn leather.
And then Daniel said the one thing none of us expected.
“I need to tell you something about the night you were born.”
Lucas's expression hardened.
“What?”
Daniel looked at me.
Then back at Lucas.
“Your mother didn't die the way everyone told you.”
The wind seemed to disappear.
I stepped forward.
“What are you talking about?”
Daniel's face had gone pale.
“Teagan knew something was wrong before she went into labor.”
Lucas stared at him.
“What did she know?”
Daniel swallowed.
“She was afraid the doctors wouldn't believe her.”
And suddenly, the story I thought I understood began to change.
Click here to continue reading: PART 5: Daniel Finally Explained What Teagan Feared Before Labor, and the Truth Forced Me to Reconsider Everything I Believed About Her Last Hours
The Baby Survived, But the Doctor’s First Words Left Me Realizing My Daughter Was Never Coming Home
Part 4 of 20
