"W-Who is that lucky person, Eve? You have to bring him here to meet me..."
Evelyn hesitated.
Her heart raced, the weight of the truth pressing heavily against her chest. If she didn’t say it now, Oliver might blurt out something even worse, something she couldn’t cover with flimsy excuses.
She drew in a slow, steady breath, her lungs aching with the effort of keeping herself calm.
The words felt heavy on her tongue as she forced them out. "Aunty Martha... we need to talk. Alone."
Martha’s eyes sharpened with quiet understanding. But it wasn’t his reaction that Evelyn worried most about; it was Oliver’s.
Her little boy frowned at her, a crease forming on his tiny brow. It was almost comical how serious he looked, as though he sensed she wanted him out of the room.
Evelyn’s heart ached at the thought that he might protest. "Sweetheart," she said gently, meeting his curious gaze. "Can you wait for us in your playroom? Mommy needs to talk about something with Granny."
She knew her son loved the playroom Martha had set up for him. Books, blocks, puzzles, and a small box of toy cars, all carefully chosen to make him feel at home. It was a sanctuary where he could lose himself in play and forget about the heaviness of the adult world.
But still, Evelyn hated that she had to keep him in the dark. Her son didn’t need to know how messy her past was, or how her mistakes had uprooted both of their lives. He was only three. He deserved lightness, joy, not the shadows of her regrets.
Martha could see the worry in Evelyn’s gaze. She reached over and gently patted Oliver’s small hand. Her voice was warm but firm. "Darling, why don’t you go read your book for a bit? Granny will bake a muffin for you once I finish talking with your mommy." Her smile flashed through her eyes.
Oliver’s face lit up instantly, his earlier suspicion forgotten as he heard about muffin.
His lips curved into a bright, beaming smile. "Yes, Granny! Muffin!" He bounced on his feet, turned to Evelyn with his grin, and added, "Don’t take too long, Mommy. I’m hungry already."
Evelyn, holding a laugh, heard his words. "We’ll be quick, sweetheart. Promise."
With a dramatic little nod, as if he was the one granting permission, Oliver walked to his playroom. The soft click of the door shutting behind him brought Evelyn a rush of relief so intense her shoulders slumped.
Finally.
When Evelyn turned back, Martha’s gaze was waiting for her; steady, curious, and full of unspoken questions. She swallowed hard.
Her lips trembled as she spoke the words she had feared for so long. "Oliver’s father is Axel Knight."
The room went silent. It was as if the world itself paused, holding its breath with them.
Evelyn’s pulse pounded in her ears, and for one ridiculous moment, she found herself praying that Martha wouldn’t have a heart attack right there on the sofa.
If she did, she would have no choice but to rush her to the hospital again. And she wasn’t sure her nerves could take that.
Martha blinked, and her gaze was stern but difficult to interpret. Then she blinked again. Her lips were sealed tight, without a sound or breeze escaping. And unbeknownst to Evelyn, Martha’s mind is anything but calm. Her mind was clearly scrambling to process everything she just heard.
Despite living tucked away from the city’s chaos, she read enough news to know precisely who Axel Knight was. Everyone knew. His name carried weight like a thunderclap.
His face always appears whenever she opens a browser on her cell phone. And all those articles always bring shame. Suddenly, she feels worried about Evelyn and Oliver.
"Axel Knight?" Martha’s voice cracked with nervousness. She pointed shakily toward the silent television in the corner, as though confirming if Evelyn meant that man. "That Axel Knight?"
"Yes." Evelyn’s answer came out barely above a whisper. "That Axel Knight."
Martha’s shoulders shrug, a soft gasp leaving her lips. She opened her mouth, closed it, then tried again. But no words came.
Her hands fluttered on her lap as if her body wanted to speak, but her voice had failed her. She worries that what she will say will hurt Evelyn. And she didn’t plan to do so.
Evelyn’s heart clenched, aware of what Martha might think now.
She quickly stood, moved to sit beside Martha, and reached for her hands.
"Aunt Martha... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shock you. But it is what it is. He’s the man." Her voice wavered, but she managed a faint smile, fragile as glass.
Martha tightened her grip on Evelyn’s hands, grounding herself before she spoke.
"Oh, dear Eve... I’m happy for you. But..." Martha’s words faltered as her eyes grew moist. "Forgive me if I sound harsh, but isn’t that man... a red flag? You’ve read what the gossip news says about him, haven’t you? What if... Will he hurt you? Will hurt Oliver... Oh dear..."
Evelyn’s heart tightened.
She forced herself to meet Martha’s gaze, even though her chest felt heavy... Martha wasn’t accusing her; she was genuinely worried, deeply concerned. And that almost hurt her more than judgment ever could.
"I know," Evelyn admitted softly, her smile turning bitter. Her eyes burned, but she refused to let tears spill. "I know who he is. What he is. But I can’t deny it, Aunt Martha. He’s Oliver’s father."
Silence settled again, thicker this time.
But it wasn’t cold.
Their hands were clasped tightly together, and though no words were exchanged, everything was clear.
Finally, Martha’s shoulders rose as she took a deep, shaky breath. She spoke, her voice steady but trembling with the weight of experience.
"Eve, I’ve lived a long life. I’ve seen people chase happiness, and I’ve seen people run headlong into misery. My only advice, dear, is this: follow your heart, but keep wise. You only live once. Put joy in your path, not sorrow. You’ve already endured so much in these last four years."
Martha’s voice trembled at the end, her composure breaking. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she patted Evelyn’s hand with trembling fingers.