Five years ago, those text messages he found were communications from a specialist doctor. I had been secretly undergoing preliminary tests because we were having trouble conceiving, intending to surprise him on his birthday. Instead, his paranoia led him to believe I was seeing another man, ending our marriage in a matter of weeks. 
“Yes,” I said quietly. “They were about the treatments I was undergoing so we could start the family you always wanted.”
Harrison closed his eyes as if in physical pain. The weight of his mistake seemed to crush him right there on the pavement. He had traded his wife and three children for a decade of solitary wealth and bitter pride.
“Chloe, please,” he begged, his eyes snapping open with desperate urgency. “Let me talk to you. Let me fix this.”
“You can’t fix five years of absence, Harrison,” I replied, opening the door for the children. “We have a life here, and we don’t need your money or your regret.”
Noah looked between me and the tall man standing in front of us. “Mommy, who is that man?” he asked softly, pulling on my sleeve.
My heart ached at the question, but I remained strong for my kids. “He’s just someone I used to know a long time ago, sweetheart,” I told him gently, guiding him into the back seat
