“Great,” she muttered, grabbing a napkin. It just smeared the stain.
“I didn’t expect to see you again today,” she said, standing up. “Excuse me, I need to clean this up.”
She hurried to the restroom, leaving her purse and phone on the table. She needed a minute to breathe.
She didn’t realize her phone was face up on the table.
Ten minutes later, she returned, slightly more composed. She stopped short.
Oliver was sitting at the table, pale as a sheet. He was holding her phone. It was ringing—a video call from Polly. Her contact photo filled the screen.
It was a high-resolution photo of a seven-year-old girl who was the spitting image of the man holding the phone.
Valerie snatched the phone from his hand, trying to silence the call, but her fingers were trembling too much.
She sat down opposite him, defeated.
“A daughter? I have a daughter?” His voice cracked.
“How could you keep this from me, Val?” The pain in his eyes was raw.
She stayed silent. All her rehearsed defenses vanished.
