Chapter 4: The Question He Was Afraid to Ask
“Who is Ava’s father?””
Marcus finally asked the question, but the words came out differently than he intended. The arrogance had drained from his voice, leaving something raw and almost desperate beneath it.
Darius stood beneath the ballroom chandelier, his dark navy suit perfectly arranged, his expression calm.
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he looked at Ava.
The little girl was holding my hand, her pale-pink dress gathered beneath her small fingers. She had stopped crying, but her eyes kept moving between the adults, searching for an explanation that would make sense to a seven-year-old.
Darius crouched beside her.
“Princess, are you hungry?””
Ava shook her head.
“Can we go home?””
“Of course we can.””
Marcus stepped forward.
“No. We're not going anywhere until someone explains this.””
Darius rose slowly.
“You've had three years to ask the right questions, Marcus.””
Marcus's face tightened.
“Three years? What does that mean?””
“It means you had opportunities to be present. You chose not to take them.””
“That has nothing to do with the test!””
“Then stop treating the test like it's an insult and start treating it like information.””
A few guests exchanged looks. Near the central aisle, a man in a charcoal suit lowered his champagne glass and watched Marcus with open disapproval.
Marcus noticed.
“What's so interesting?”” he demanded.
“Have you never seen a family disagreement before?””
The man looked away, but his expression didn't change.
Brielle grabbed Marcus's arm.
“Please stop shouting. Everyone is watching.””
He pulled free.
“Then let them watch.””
He turned toward Darius again.
“Tell me who Ava's father is.””
Darius looked directly into his eyes.
“Why?””
Marcus blinked.
“What?””
“Why do you need the name?””
“Because she's my daughter!””
Darius let the silence sit between them.
Then he asked, “If the test had said you were her biological father, would you have treated her differently tonight?””
Marcus's mouth opened.
No answer came.
Darius continued.
“Would you have apologized to Naomi for humiliating her? Would you have asked Ava whether she was frightened? Would you have stopped using a seven-year-old child to win an argument?””
Marcus's cheeks reddened.
“Don't lecture me about parenting.””
“Then don't make me.””
I looked at Darius, surprised by the firmness in his voice.
He had never been a man who needed to dominate a room. He could command attention without raising his voice, and that quality had always unsettled Marcus more than anger ever could.
Marcus jabbed a finger toward him.
“You think you're some kind of hero because you showed up after my marriage ended?””
“No,” Darius replied.
“I showed up because Naomi needed help, and Ava needed someone who kept his promises.””
Brielle looked at me.
“Naomi, is that really how it happened?””
I almost laughed.
Not because the question was funny, but because Brielle had spent the evening helping Marcus humiliate me. Now that his version of events was unraveling, she suddenly wanted mine.
“You believed what Marcus told you,” I said.
“You never asked me.””
“He said you were unstable. He said you made his life impossible.””
“And did you ask why he stopped visiting his daughter?””
Brielle looked down.
Marcus cut in.
“Don't answer her questions.””
Brielle turned sharply.
“Don't tell me what to do.””
He stared at her.
For the first time that night, she didn't immediately retreat.
I watched the exchange and felt an unexpected sadness. Brielle had chosen to believe Marcus's stories because they made her feel secure in the place she occupied beside him. Now she was discovering that a relationship built on someone else's humiliation could become uncomfortable the moment the spotlight changed direction.
Darius reached into his jacket again.
Marcus stiffened.
“What now?””
Darius withdrew a folded sheet of paper, not another laboratory envelope.
He kept it in his hand.
“This is a copy of the invitation Naomi received tonight.””
Marcus frowned.
“So?””
“Read the name at the top.””
Marcus glanced at it.
His expression changed.
The gala wasn't simply another social event. It was a fundraising celebration hosted by the Whitmore Children's Foundation, an organization that supported children's hospitals, family counseling services, and programs for children who had lost parental support.
At the top of the invitation, beneath the foundation's gold emblem, was the name of the evening's principal benefactor.
*Darius Whitmore.*
Marcus stared at the paper.
“You're the Whitmore?””
Darius nodded.
A murmur moved through the ballroom.
Marcus knew the name. Everyone in his business circle did. Darius's family had built a successful chain of medical technology companies, and Darius himself had become known for directing a significant portion of his wealth toward community programs.
Marcus had spent years trying to secure an introduction to the Whitmore family.
Now the man standing in front of him was the person he had been trying to impress.
And Ava had just called him Daddy.
Marcus looked at me.
“How long have you known him?””
“Long enough to know what kind of man he is.””
“Were you using him to get back at me?””
I stared at him in disbelief.
“You still think everything I do is about you.””
He flinched.
It was small, but I saw it.
Darius folded the invitation and slipped it into his jacket.
“This conversation is over for tonight.””
Marcus shook his head.
“You don't get to decide that.””
“No,” Darius said.
“Naomi does.””
He turned toward me.
“Are you ready?””
I nodded.
Ava immediately reached for him with her free hand.
Darius took it gently.
The three of us began walking toward the ballroom entrance.
Marcus followed.
“Naomi!””
I kept moving.
“Naomi, I'm talking to you!””
We passed the first row of champagne tables. Guests stepped aside, creating a path down the wide central aisle.
Then Marcus said something that made me stop.
“If Ava isn't mine, what exactly have you been hiding from me?””
I turned around.
For one moment, I saw the man I had married. The man who had once held my hand in a hospital waiting room. The man who had promised that no matter what happened, we would always put our child first.
Then I remembered the empty chairs at school events, the unanswered calls, and the birthday Ava had spent waiting for a father who never arrived.
I looked at him without anger.
“Marcus, you weren't asking questions when you thought you had all the answers.””
I turned away.
But before we reached the entrance, a voice called from beside the ballroom's main stage.
“Mr. Whitmore?””
A middle-aged Black woman in an elegant burgundy dress approached Darius, holding a tablet against her chest.
“I'm sorry to interrupt,” she said, glancing briefly at Marcus.
“There's someone here who says he has information about the paternity report.””
Darius's expression changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough for me to notice.
“Who?”” he asked.
The woman looked toward the entrance.
May you like
Then she answered.
“Someone who claims he knows Ava's biological father.””
