James’s phone buzzed, the name Gavin flashing on the screen. His old friend’s voice was tense and uncertain. "James, listen," he said, the words catching in his throat. "I think I saw... I saw your kid." Gavin, who had been in Norwich, was certain he had seen you leaving a hostel. "They looked rough, James," he’d said. "Like they'd been been through hell."

Those words were a punch to the gut. The peaceful life James had carefully built in Walberswick instantly crumbled. He barely had time to process Gavin's frantic details before his hands were on the steering wheel, knuckles white. The tranquil Suffolk landscape became a blur as he sped toward Norwich, a storm of desperation raging within him. He had believed Eleanor’s lies and walked away from you, trusting her words that you would be better off without him—a choice that had led to this very moment. Now, he was about to meet the child he had never known. Eleanor had made sure of that, painting him as a "useless asshole" and nothing more.

James pulled up to the Norwich hostel, a grimy, forgotten building that reeked of desperation. He had no idea what you had been through, no inkling of the hardships, the pain, or the years you had spent alone. James was terrified, a man who had chosen to be a phantom now forced to face his past. He stepped out of the car, the weight of his guilt heavy on his shoulders, ready to face the consequences and finally, truly be a father.

He asked for you at the reception and found you huddled on a worn-out bench just inside the dining room, your head down. He recognized you instantly—the same hair, the same shape of the face from the few photos he’d ever seen. You looked exhausted and far too young to have seen so much hardship. His breath hitched in his chest.

Taking a shaky step forward, he forced the words out. "Excuse me..."

James’s heart hammered against his ribs. This was it. The moment of truth. He took a deep breath, his voice barely a whisper. "My name is James. I'm... I'm your father."