He followed us, calling my name, his voice trembling. Emily’s eyes darted between us, suspicion blooming. I tried to keep walking, unwilling to let Jacob hear the tension, but Mark quickened his pace and stepped in front of us.

“Claire,” he stammered, “who… who is that?”

I met his eyes. “He’s my son.”

Emily let out a short, disbelieving laugh, but Mark didn’t. His eyes stayed locked on Jacob, tracing every familiar feature. Jacob’s sandy hair. The dimples that appeared only when he smiled—just like Mark’s.

“Claire,” he whispered, barely breathing, “is he… mine?”

The air seemed to thin. Emily turned to him, her face draining of color. “What do you mean yours?”

I could’ve lied. Could’ve walked away and left him haunted. But after four years of raising Jacob alone, I was done hiding. I lifted my chin. “Yes. He’s yours.”

Emily’s sharp gasp cut through the market noise. People around us slowed to watch, but I only looked at Mark. His hands shook, his face crumpled with disbelief.

“You left me,” I said quietly but firmly. “I found out after you were gone. I didn’t tell you because you had already made your choice. Why would I bring a baby into that chaos?”

Tears filled Emily’s eyes. She jerked her hand away from his. “You knew? You had a baby with her and never told me?” Her voice broke, loud enough to draw stares.

Mark reached toward Jacob, but I stepped back. “Don’t,” I said sharply. “You don’t get to play father now. He doesn’t know you. He doesn’t need you.”

Jacob tugged at my coat, confused. “Mommy?”

I knelt and kissed his forehead. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

When I looked up, Mark was crying—real tears. Emily, meanwhile, was shaking with fury. She shoved him, her voice cracking. “You destroyed everything. You destroyed us!”

And in that instant, I saw how fragile their “perfect” marriage really was. Emily stormed off, leaving him alone in the crowd. He called after her, but she never turned back.

Then his eyes returned to me, raw with regret. “Please, Claire. Let me be part of his life.”

I clutched Jacob closer. “You made your choice. Don’t expect me to clean up the wreckage.”

And with that, I walked away, holding my son’s hand, leaving Mark standing in the wreckage of his own making.