He didn’t look up. “It means everything I thought I knew about my past—and my present—just changed.”
Then he told me what happened.
He’d driven across town to the old café with the green awning—the place they used to study during college, with chipped tables and coffee that tasted like memory.
They were there. Callie and the girl.
Her name was Audrey.
Greg said the moment he saw her, he froze. His heart recognized her before his mind could catch up. She reminded him of his sister at that age—the same eyes, the same guarded posture, arms folded tight as if she were afraid to open herself too much.
Callie had looked up and quietly said, “Thank you for coming.”
Audrey just stared at him, her face unreadable.
They sat together at a corner table, speaking carefully. Audrey asked questions—where he grew up, what movies he loved in college, why he hadn’t been there.
Greg said he wanted to scream when he realized he’d never known she existed.
Callie explained everything in a flat, hollow voice. She found out she was pregnant after they broke up. She’d been seeing someone else—the wealthy man she later married—and told him the baby was his.