“I’ll come with you.”
“No. Kendrix is still sleeping. I have to run to the shop as well and pick up a tool we forgot. We’re going to start the demo on the kitchen.”
“But dinner, we were making dinner.”
“We still can, just at my place. I didn’t expect us to be done with the bathrooms until tomorrow. I’ll just take you guys home with me, and then bring you back later.”
“Okay. So, you’re going now?”
“Yes. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He opens his mouth to say something else, but quickly closes it. Instead, he leans in and presses his lips to mine, and then he’s gone.* * *Exactly one hour and four minutes later, he’s pulling into the driveway. Yes, I counted the minutes. Kendrix is sitting next to me with a glass of milk, and some carrots and ranch dressing. The door swings open, and his dark brown eyes filled with so much emotion find mine. He holds the envelope up and nods.
“Thought that was you,” Mark says, coming into the room. “Kendrix, I know you’re eating your snack, but I thought you might want to help me with something.”
“I’m all done. See.” She holds up her empty bowl as she pops the last carrot into her mouth. The ranch dressing starts to run, but I grab the bowl just in time. Not that it matters. We’re replacing this carpet anyway. “Momma, can I help Mr. Mark?”
“Just Mark, kiddo, or you can call me Uncle Mark.”
“Weally? I don’t have an uncle. Wait. What’s an uncle?” she asks, making us all laugh.
“Yes, you can go with Mark.” I leave off both the Mr. and the uncle for now.
She takes his offered hand, and they disappear into the kitchen.
“Come here, baby.” Kent holds his hand out for me, just like Mark did for Kendrix, and just like my daughter, I don’t hesitate to place my hand in his. He guides us upstairs and down the hall to the very back bedroom. Once inside, he closes the door and flips the lock. “You ready for this?”
“Are you ready for this is the bigger question? I know she’s mine.”
“And I know she’s mine.” He hands me the envelope.
“You don’t want to do the honors?” My voice quivers.
“No. I know what it says.” He taps his chest right over his heart. “I don’t need that piece of paper to tell me what I know, but I have my memories, Laney. You need this. Open it.” He holds the letter out again, and this time with shaking hands, I take it from him.
My knees wobble and Kent notices. With his hand on the small of my back, he leads me to the bed. I sit and stare at the white envelope that has Kent’s name scrawled across the front.
“I’m right here, Laney. No matter what that piece of paper says, I’m right here.”
I nod, letting his words sink in, and turn the envelope over in my hands, sliding my index finger under the seal. Slowly, I pull out the single folded sheet of paper, and take my time, opening each layer. Then, my eyes scan the words, the numbers, and my heart soars.
“She’s yours,” I say as a sob rips from my chest. My eyes are blurry from tears as I read it once more. 99.9 percent match. Everything Kent has told me is true. Kendrix is his daughter. Our daughter.
“I fucking knew it.” His strong arms wrap around me. His hold is tight as he rests his forehead on my shoulder. His body shakes and I take a deep breath, trying to calm down, but then I realize that it’s not me that’s causing it. It’s him. Standing from the bed, I turn to stand in front of him, settling between his legs. I wrap my arms around him, his head against my chest. His arms grip around my waist and together, we cry. For what we lost, for what we’ve gained, and for the future before us.
“Are you okay?” I whisper.
“More than okay. I knew she was mine.” He pulls back and peers up at me. “I felt it in my heart that she was my little girl, but there was always that doubt, you know. The odds have been stacked against us since day one, and I was so afraid to think about if I was wrong. What if she wasn’t mine, and you took her away from me? What if she wasn’t mine and you took you away from me?” Reaching up, his hands cradle either side of my face. “You’re both mine, Laney. I’ll stop at nothing to prove that to you.” He pauses, giving me time to process his words. “I loved you.” He exhales as if he’s been waiting years to say those words to me. And well, I guess he has.