The Mistress Who Ran Away With The Twins

Chapter 189: Is He My Father?

Cairo was still standing in front of me, his small brows drawn together in that familiar thoughtful expression that made him look older than he was.

"If he’s not related to us... why does it feel like he is?" he repeated softly.

I swallowed.

God, how was I supposed to answer that?

I forced a small smile, reaching out to smooth his hair. "Sometimes people just... feel familiar," I said carefully. "It doesn’t always mean something deeper."

That sounded weak even to my own ears.

Cairo didn’t argue, but I could tell he wasn’t convinced. His gaze drifted toward the door, lingering there as if he expected it to open again at any second.

"...He didn’t feel like a stranger to me though.." he muttered.

My chest tightened.

Before I could respond, Egypt suddenly popped her head out from the kitchen.

"Mom! Paris is being bossy again!" she complained loudly. "She said I’m washing the plates wrong!"

"I said you’re splashing water everywhere," Paris’s voice came from behind her, calm but firm. "There’s a difference."

"At least I’m the one washing the dishes!" Egypt shot back. "I’m taking initiative!"

"That’s not how cleaning works," Paris replied. "You’re just wasting water."

Cairo sighed dramatically, already turning toward the kitchen. "Mom, can I help Egypt? Before she floods the entire house."

I let out a small breath, forcing myself to stay composed. "Actually, I’ll handle the dishes," I said gently. "You three just relax, okay? You can help by wiping the table after."

Before they could argue, I hurried to the kitchen and stepped between Egypt and Paris, who were both gripping the same sponge.

"Okay, okay, that’s enough," I said, taking the sponge from them. "You two can dry the table instead."

Egypt pouted but obeyed. Paris didn’t protest, though I could feel her eyes on me.

After a few minutes, I finished the dishes and wiped my hands dry, exhaling slowly. I leaned against the wall, pressing my palm lightly against my chest.

Why does it feel like this? Like something is pressing down on me from the inside.

Like something important just walked out the door.

I shut my eyes for a second.

No. Stop that.

He didn’t belong here.

That scene earlier. Rome sitting at the table, the kids laughing, the way everything had felt so natural, it wasn’t something I should get used to.

Because it felt right.

And things that feel right have always cost me the most.

—

The rest of the morning passed in a blur.

I tried to keep myself busy, cleaning, organizing, checking things that didn’t really need checking.

Anything to keep my mind from replaying that moment at the door.

If your mom wants me to.

Why did he have to say it like that?

Why did he have to look at me like that?

"You’re zoning out, Mom."

I flinched slightly and turned to see Paris standing behind me, hands on her hips.

"I’m not.." I said quickly.

She raised an eyebrow.

I sighed. "Okay... maybe a little."

She leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "You’ve been like that since he left."

I grabbed my phone, pretending to check something just to avoid her gaze. "You’re imagining things."

"I’m not Egypt," she said flatly. "I don’t imagine things. I observe."

I forced a small smile. "Then observe something else."

Paris didn’t move.

"You still love him" she said.

The words landed quietly.

I froze.

"...P-Paris, sweetheart," I said carefully, "you shouldn’t make assumptions about things you don’t understand."

"I understand enough," she replied. "You didn’t deny it."

I looked at her then.

She wasn’t accusing me. She wasn’t judging me.

That made it worse.

"I don’t" I said, a little too quickly.

She tilted her head slightly.

"That’s not what it looked like earlier."

"What did it look like?" I asked, sharper than I intended.

She didn’t flinch.

"It looked like you were trying very hard not to feel something."

My grip tightened around the phone.

"That doesn’t mean I love him" I said.

"No," she agreed calmly. "But it also doesn’t mean you don’t."

I didn’t have an answer for that.

Paris watched me for a moment longer before walking over and sitting on the sofa, like she was cornering me without actually saying it. She looked small, just a child but the way she spoke, the way she observed everything, made it hard not to feel unsettled.

She was my daughter.

But sometimes... she was frighteningly perceptive.

"I don’t love him," I repeated, more quietly this time. "And I don’t hate him either. He’s just... someone from my past. He’s nothing to me now."

Paris studied my face.

"If he’s nothing," she said slowly, "then why can’t you tell Egypt and Cairo the truth?"

My breath caught.

"W-what truth?" I asked, though my voice already betrayed me.

She didn’t hesitate.

"The truth that he’s our dad," she said calmly. "And how you’ve been lying to us about who he is, even though the answer is already right in front of us."

My ears rang.

"I may be young," she continued, "but I can tell how much you’re both hurting, Mom."

"Paris..." I whispered, my voice barely there.

"I’m not saying you should forgive him," she added. "I just think... ignoring what you feel won’t make it disappear. And you two probably need to talk. A real talk. Not whatever that was earlier."

She stood up.

"And I hope next time... you won’t lie to us about him."

Then she walked away.

And just like that, I was left alone with thoughts I didn’t want.

—

That night came too quickly.

The kids were asleep, finally.

Egypt had talked herself into exhaustion. Paris had pretended not to be tired until she fell asleep mid-sentence while listening to Egypt. Cairo had been quieter than usual, but he stayed close to me longer than normal before going to bed.

Now the house was still.

I quietly left the room and sat on the couch, staring at my phone.

It had been hours.

No message. No call.

Wait.

Why am I even waiting?

I scoffed at myself and tossed the phone onto the table.

I shouldn’t care whether he contacts me or not.

I shouldn’t be thinking about him at all.

And yet—

Why does it feel like I’m waiting?

I pressed my fingers to my temples.

Stop it. You’re overthinking.

He has his own life.

His own responsibilities.

His own child.

Gabriel.

Even though he said Gabriel wasn’t his son, the thought still twisted something painfully inside my chest.

A life that moved forward... without me.

While I—

I let out a slow breath.

No.

That’s not fair.

I moved forward too.

I built a life. I raised my children. Alone. I didn’t need him.

I don’t need him now.

So why does everything feel so complicated again just because he showed up?

A soft knock on the door broke through my thoughts.

I froze.

My heart skipped.

No.

It can’t be—

Another knock.

Gentler this time.

I stood up before I could stop myself.

My feet moved on their own, even though every part of me knew opening that door was a bad idea.

But I didn’t stop.

When I reached the door, my hand hovered over the handle for a second.

Then I opened it.

And there he was.

Rome.

Standing outside like he hadn’t just walked out of my life again hours ago.

He looked... different.

There was hesitation in his posture. Uncertainty in his eyes.

Like he wasn’t sure if he should be here.

"...You came back.." I said before I could stop myself.

His lips curved faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

"I said I would fix what I broke.." he replied quietly.

My chest tightened.

I crossed my arms, leaning against the doorframe to steady myself.

"It’s late," I said. "The kids are asleep."

"I know," he said. "I wasn’t planning to stay long."

"Then why are you here?"

He hesitated.

Then, "Because I knew you wouldn’t come to me."

I let out a small, humorless laugh. "You’re right. I wouldn’t."

"That’s why I have to be the one who comes to you."

His honesty caught me off guard.

"Rome—"

"I’m not asking you to forgive me," he interrupted gently. "Not now. Maybe not ever."

I frowned slightly.

"Then what are you asking?"

He took a small step closer but still kept a respectful distance.

"Just... don’t shut me out completely," he said. "Let me be around. Let me try."

My grip tightened around my arms.

"You think it’s that easy?" I asked quietly.

"No," he admitted. "I know it’s not."

Silence stretched between us.

"You saw them today," I said after a moment. "And I don’t want that to happen again. You’re confusing the kids."

"I know."

I swallowed.

"I won’t let anyone hurt them. Especially you. So stop approaching them. Now and in the future—"

"That’s hard for me to do," he cut in, his voice firm but not aggressive. "Please understand that. I can do anything else... but not that. I can’t stay away from them."

I searched his face, trying to find something that would make this easier.

But it didn’t.

Nothing about this was easy.

"Why now?" I asked finally. "Why are you suddenly trying again after all this time?"

He didn’t answer immediately.

When he did, his voice was quiet.

"Because I finally understand what I lost."

My chest ached.

"That’s not enough.." I whispered.

"I know," he said again. "But it’s where I’m starting."

I closed my eyes for a second.

This was exactly what I was afraid of.

Him standing here, sincere and steady, asking for a chance I wasn’t sure I could give.

When I opened my eyes again, he was still there.

"...You can’t come whenever you want" I said slowly.

"I won’t."

"It seems like you don’t understand," I continued. "Your presence alone is confusing them."

"I just want to see them," he said quietly. "Please... don’t stop me from that. I won’t tell them anything. They won’t know I’m their father. Just... let me be near them."

I stared at him.

"You’re selfish," I said. "Do you know that? With your presence alone, they’ll figure it out. They’re already looking for their father. You being around will only make them long for something they don’t understand."

"Then what are you afraid of?" he asked softly. "Why not just tell them I’m their father?"

"No," I said immediately. "I can’t do that. I will never do that."

"F-father... is he my father?"

The small voice behind me froze both of us.

I turned slowly.

Cairo stood there, barefoot, his hair messy from sleep, his eyes wide and uncertain as he looked between me and Rome, before settling on Rome.

My heart stopped.

He had heard.

How much did he hear?

"Cairo..." I breathed.

He took a small step forward, his voice trembling slightly.

"...Is he my father?"