The Swan Dance

Seeing that I had calmed down, Michael turned and hurried out, but he left his phone behind in the closet.

I had half a mind to chase after him, until I saw the notification lighting up the screen. It was a message from Janine.

All the doubt and anxiety that had gnawed at me for years pushed me to do something reckless. My fingers trembled as I unlocked his phone. He hadn’t even changed the password.

Where there used to be a photo of the three of us—Michael, Ryder, and me—was now replaced with a wallpaper of two cartoon girls, one big and one small, holding hands.

In an instant, the swarm of suspicions I’d been trying to silence over the years roared back, suffocating me. I didn’t even notice how badly my hand was shaking when I opened his chat app.

The messages between Michael and Janine weren’t particularly incriminating at first glance.

It was mostly her coordinating his outfits, updating him on the progress of the dinner event, and working tirelessly on his behalf.

Then why, in the middle of urging him to hurry, did she also send a selfie?

"Hurry. I’ve almost got Mr. Horace Stevens drunk. Just waiting for you to land the final blow."

The text was followed by a mirror selfie in the restroom. Her professional suit still looked prim and proper, but with her flushed cheeks from wine and a few undone buttons, the image carried a suggestive allure.

Michael replied with two words, "On my way!"

Nevertheless, I could see it: the impatience, the eagerness laced between those two words. Furthermore, I know he had sent them right at the moment he had softened his tone to soothe me.

A laugh slipped from my lips, sharp and bitter.

I couldn’t even tell. Was I mocking Michael’s restless urgency? Or myself, for that fleeting moment of hesitation and self-doubt?

Early the next morning, Ryder’s cries jolted me awake.

I reached for him, only to realize his side of the bed was empty. Panic gripped me as I ran into the living room.

There he was, my little boy, kneeling in the corner, his face streaked with bright red handprints.

Across the room, Michael cradled Janine’s daughter, Nina Carter, in his arms, comforting her with a tenderness I had never once seen from him.

The moment he noticed me, his brows snapped together in fury. "How the heck are you raising this child? He has no manners! If he doesn’t kneel for twelve hours straight, he’s not allowed to get up!"

I rushed forward, wrapping my arms tightly around Ryder. His small hands clutched at my clothes, his eyes brimming with tears.

"Mommy, I didn’t… I didn’t do anything wrong." His voice cracked. "She broke my LEGO on purpose, and then she called me a love child… She said we don’t belong in our own house!"

"Ryder Quinn!" Michael’s roar shook me. "Lying at your age already? Nina was just curious. She barely touched your LEGO. And you twist it into something like this to slander her? Looks like if I don’t teach you a lesson today, you’ll never learn."

He yanked Ryder’s small arm, dragging him toward the bathroom.

Just then, Nina burst into fresh sobs. "Uncle Michael, I’m sorry. Ryder, I’m sorry. It’s all my fault. I was clumsy. I shouldn’t have broken your LEGO. I only wished I had a daddy like you, Uncle Michael…"

She hiccupped through her tears, choking out more words. "I'm a bad child. No one wants me. I’m just a useless girl."

Her pitiful wails pulled all of Michael’s fury away from Ryder and onto her.

"Sweet girl, don’t cry. You’re Uncle Michael’s little angel." The softness in his tone was a dagger twisting in me. "You’re not unwanted, Nina. From now on, I’ll be your dad. And if anyone dares to bully you, Uncle Michael will take care of it."

Then, he shot me and Ryder a searing glare.

"Mr. Quinn, Lena… I’m so sorry."

The voice came from behind me.

I turned, and there was Janine, emerging slowly from the master bedroom.

On the bed Michael and I once shared were the undeniable imprints of three bodies.