The Adopted Lie

“What are you doing with my phone?”

Sophia Turner’s voice came from behind me, trembling almost imperceptibly.

I froze.

In one hand, I still held the document that registered me as Noah's father.

In the other was her phone, its screen still lit up.

The message on it burned into my mind like a poisoned blade.

‘Thanks for working so hard, babe. Once Noah is old enough, I’ll make sure Lucas leaves with nothing.'

I turned to look at the woman I had shared a bed with for three years.

She wore the silk pajamas I had bought her and carried a mug of warm milk. Her face still held that familiar expression, soft and delicate enough to seem almost fragile.

“Who is this ‘babe’?” I asked.

My own voice startled me.

It was too calm.

Sophia’s eyes flicked to the screen, and her pupils shrank.

She slammed the mug onto the table, rushed over, and snatched the phone from my hand so roughly her nails nearly tore my skin.

“Are you sick, Lucas Barner?” She locked the screen at once. Her eyes reddened as outrage flooded her voice. “You went through my phone, and you think you have the right to question me?”

I pointed at the adoption book on the table, my hand shaking despite myself.

“I’m asking you who that pinned contact is. And why is your best friend's son adopted as my son?”

Sophia drew a sharp breath.

Tears spilled down her cheeks.

“Noah’s mother was Grace Spencer. She was my best friend in college. She died suddenly and left behind nothing but a letter and her son.”

She wiped her face, her voice breaking.

“The letter said Noah’s biological father had a violent temper and that we could never let him find Noah. I was afraid you’d say no, so I used your information to file the guardianship paperwork without telling you.”

She stared at me, her eyes full of wounded indignation.

“And that message was from Noah’s biological father. He got out of prison and has been looking for the boy. I pretended to be Grace to keep him calm.”

Her voice grew more urgent.

“When I said I’d make him leave with nothing, I meant I would make him give up any claim to the house Grace left behind, so Noah could keep it.”

I watched her put on that righteous act and almost believed her.

Almost.

“Out of prison?” I caught the phrase immediately.

Sophia bit her lip.

“His name is Victor Zimmerman. He served eight years for assault and got out last month. He’s been looking for Noah because he wants to use the child to extort money from Grace’s family.”

Her explanation was flawless.

If I had not seen that message calling someone “babe,” I might have accepted every word.

But that one term kept digging into me.

I gave a cold laugh. “You come up with a different story every month, Sophia. Which one is true?”

“Enough, Lucas!” Sophia raised her voice and pointed toward the bedroom. “If you don’t trust me, we can get divorced tomorrow. Noah and I will leave. We won’t stay here and get in your way.”

At that moment, the master-bedroom door flew open.

Ten-year-old Noah charged out like a cannonball and slammed into my stomach.

He wore cartoon pajamas and dragged his feet in my oversized slippers, his face flushed red with anger.

“Don’t bully my mom!”

Then he opened his mouth and bit down hard on my wrist.