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?”