Chapter Six: The Man Everyone Had Judged

Ethan had never noticed how loud silence could be. His apartment overlooked the eastern side of the city, where traffic usually formed a steady, comforting rhythm by sunrise, but this morning, even those familiar sounds felt distant and muffled beneath the crushing weight pressing against his chest. He hadn't slept at all. His suit jacket still lay across the sofa where he'd thrown it the night before, and the white rose from his lapel had already browned overnight, its petals curling inward like something that had simply given up.

On the kitchen counter, the engagement ring rested under the harsh morning light. He had picked it up at least twenty times since midnight, and each time, after staring at the diamond, he had convinced himself to put it back down.

Suddenly, the apartment's intercom crackled to life. "Mr. Cole?" It was the building concierge, his voice hesitant.

"Yes?" Ethan responded, stepping closer to the wall unit.

"There's... quite a crowd outside."

Ethan closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the wall. "Reporters?"

"And a few people with cameras," the concierge confirmed. "They've been asking residents if you've come home yet."

"I'll stay inside," Ethan said flatly.

"I figured you would." The line went dead with a sharp click.

Ethan walked slowly into the living room, keeping well back from the glass to avoid being spotted. Peering through a narrow gap in the curtains, he counted at least a dozen people gathered directly outside the main entrance. There were two large satellite vans, several aggressive photographers, and a woman rehearsing her lines into a microphone while a man next to her held up a cardboard sign that read:

TELL THE TRUTH, ETHAN.

He stepped away from the window, unable to look anymore. Just then, the kettle on the stove began to whistle loudly, though he had absolutely no memory of turning it on. He poured the steaming water into a mug and dropped in a tea bag, then left it untouched on the counter as his thoughts drifted uncontrollably back to Lily.

He didn't think about what she'd said, but rather what she had looked like. Children could lie, of course, because adults ultimately taught them how to do it. But fear was entirely different; fear was incredibly difficult to fake.

When the little girl had looked back toward the church doors yesterday, she hadn't been confused. She had been absolutely terrified. And then she had whispered those final words: "She's coming." He wondered bitterly who she could possibly mean.

Before he could analyze the thought any further, someone knocked on his apartment door three. Slow deliberate knocks that weren't hurried or aggressive.

Ethan froze, his heart hammering against his ribs, because no one was supposed to know which specific apartment unit he lived in. When another three knocks followed, a familiar voice called out, "Ethan?"

It was Daniel. Ethan let out a breath and unlocked the door, letting his friend step inside carrying two brown paper bags from a nearby café.

"You look awful," Daniel said honestly, taking in Ethan's disheveled appearance.

"I feel worse."

"I brought coffee."

"I don't think coffee can fix this," Ethan muttered, locking the door behind them.

"No," Daniel agreed, glancing around the messy apartment before placing the bags on the dining table and sitting down without waiting to be invited. "But it's a start."

For a long while, neither of them touched the food or drinks. Finally, Daniel broke the heavy silence. "I've spent all morning answering calls."

Ethan rubbed his aching temples. "From who?"

"Everyone. Your parents, clients, your cousins, my wife... my barber somehow."

Despite the misery of the situation, Ethan let out a short, incredulous laugh. "Your barber?"

Daniel shrugged, his expression remaining serious. "He wanted to know if you'd been hiding a secret child all this time." The brief flash of humor disappeared as quickly as it had come when Daniel leaned forward across the table. "I'm serious, Ethan. And so am I. I told every single person who called the exact same thing."

"What did you tell them?"

"That if you'd fathered a child six years ago, I would've known about it."

Ethan looked at his friend, feeling a strange mixture of relief and doubt. "You sound very certain."

"I am."

"You can't possibly know that for sure, Dan."

"I can," Daniel insisted, holding his gaze firmly. "I knew you back when you couldn't even afford rent. I knew every single woman you dated before you met Amelia, and I helped you move apartments three times. You don't just disappear for nine months and secretly become someone's father without your best friend noticing."

The weight of the words settled over the quiet room. For the first time since the wedding had collapsed, someone had spoken to Ethan as though he wasn't already guilty, and the relief was almost overwhelming. "Thank you," Ethan said quietly.

Daniel shook his head, his face turning grim. "Don't thank me yet." He reached into his jacket pocket and placed a folded newspaper flat on the table. The front page carried a prominent, full-color photograph of Lily tightly hugging Ethan's leg at the altar. Above it, printed in bold, unforgiving letters, was the headline:

ARCHITECT'S SECRET FAMILY EXPOSED AT WEDDING.

Daniel sighed, gesturing to the paper. "Whether you're innocent or not doesn't really matter anymore, Ethan. The city has already made up its mind."

Before Ethan could even find the words to respond, his phone vibrated against the couch cushions once more. This time, it wasn't the name of another relentless reporter flashing on the screen; the display showed an unknown, blocked number. He almost ignored it, his thumb hovering over the decline button, but something unexplainable made him answer.

"Hello?" he said, pressing the phone to his ear.

For several agonizing seconds, all he heard on the other end was the sound of faint, ragged breathing. Then, a small, frightened voice whispered into the receiver.

"...Daddy?"

The line instantly went dead.