“Thank you.”

“What’s your fiancée’s full name, sir?”

“Charlotte Marie Taylor.”

“And you’re sure she’s enrolled here?”

“One hundred percent positive.” I heard the sound of a tapping keyboard.

"There's no student named Charlotte Taylor, sir,” she said. "There aren't any students here named Charlotte at all."

What? “She accepted Stanford’s offer.” I shook my head. “I was with her when she shipped her things and she sent me pictures of the campus.”

“Sir, all I can tell you is that Charlotte Marie Taylor is not listed as a student here,” she said. “And even that is too much information without knowing who you are. I have to go.” She ended the call.

I called the other law schools that accepted Charlotte.

I called the art schools. I called her advisor. Her parents. Her friends.

No one knew anything. So they claimed.

I spent countless nights unable to sleep because I had no idea why the hell she would ghost me and I wasn't sure how to deal with the unfamiliar ache in my chest.

WHEN I EXHAUSTED ALL the search options I could handle on my own, I ordered Anna to enlist the aid of private investigators.

GRAYSON: NOW

Present Day

New York City

“HERE YOU ARE.” A BARISTA set two fresh lattes on the table at Rosy-gan Café. “Let me know if you two need anything else tonight.”

Charlotte brought her cup to her lips, still avoiding direct eye contact with me. We’d been sitting here for an hour, and the only words we’d exchanged were “Hello,” and “Hi.” Occasionally, a song we both knew came over the speakers and we’d make eye contact and smile, but that was it.

I’d spent my entire weekend writing down the events that transpired after our senior year, trying to see if I could find anything that changed my line of thinking that she was the one who left me. I couldn’t find a single thing, though. As much as I wanted us to rebuild what we had, I knew we couldn’t do that anymore. She didn’t trust me, and I knew she wasn’t going to agree to meet me for another Tuesday night of silence.

Reaching over the table, I tugged at the numerous charms on her bracelet. There was an easel, a gavel, a calendar with the word Tuesday etched across the top, numerous coffee cups, donuts, a television with Friends etched onto the screen, and a baby block.

My heart dropped.

“What’s wrong?” She finally spoke.

“I owe you a huge apology.”

"Yes..." Her hazel eyes looked hopeful, as if she'd been waiting for me to say that for years. "But for what?"

“For assuming you didn’t have any kids.” I tugged at the yellow block. “I also apologize for thinking that your first child was always meant to be mine. Then again, I guess I should’ve known you would find someone else to start a family with after all this time.”

I couldn’t stop tugging at the block. “How old is the child? And is it a boy or a girl?”

She didn’t say a word.

“Charlotte?” I looked up and noticed her face was ghost-white. “Charlotte, what’s wrong?”

“You said my first child should’ve been yours?”

“I wasn’t trying to offend you. That’s just what I’ve always thought.”

“I thought you were—You said that...” She stammered, her eyes going wide. “Didn’t you tell me that—” She grabbed her coat and stood to her feet.

“You’re leaving?”

“No, I just need some air.” She started to walk away, but she sat down again.

“I’m confused, Grayson.”

“You’re not the only one,” I said. “Maybe we should just do this a different day.”

“No.” She gripped my wrist. “I’m confused about what you said about me having a child.”

“I understand why you moved on.” I tried to sound like I meant that. “Down the line, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to meet him—or her. You still have yet to tell me if it’s a boy or a girl.”

“I don’t have any kids, Grayson.” Tears fell down her face. “The one child I had was yours, and I told you that.”

“Had?” I leaned back against my seat. “What are you saying?”

“I called you so many times.” Her voice cracked. “So many times.”

“Wait, wait.” I moved to her side of the table and wrapped my arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “That can’t be true. I promise I never heard from you.”

“Because you chose not to. You chose to move on with your life like I never meant anything to you.”

“That’s not true either.” I wiped tears from her eyes. “Charlotte, please explain what you’re saying to me about the word ‘had’ and a baby. And I need to know why you still think I walked away from you, when it was definitely vice versa...”

CHARLOTTE: THEN

Seven years ago

California

ME: GRAYSON, WE NEED to talk.

ME: Grayson, it’s an emergency...

ME: Grayson, I’ve called you thirty times this week. Surely you can answer ONE call...

I SET MY PHONE DOWN and picked up the pregnancy test, staring at the two blue lines. This was my tenth test this week and the result was the same as all the others. Suddenly, my plans for getting through Stanford seemed insignificant, and I was thinking about moving to New York so Grayson could help me raise our child.

Unsure of what to do next, I didn't tell any of my friends or family. I wanted Grayson to know first, and I wanted him to be with me, even if it was just for a day.

I continued calling his phones—his old line, his new business line, his new personal line. He never answered, never returned a call. I sent him an email and carbon-copied his agent on it hoping for better results.

SUBJECT: URGENT: PLEASE open and answer.

Grayson,

I’m pregnant.

Charlotte.

STILL NO RESPONSE.

After three days passed, I began looking up flights to New York, but I received a “We’re on our way. Be at your place in an hour” text from Anna and felt a slight tinge of relief. I rushed home to make sure I’d be there when they arrived, but when they arrived, it wasn’t “they” at all. Only Anna.

“So, you’re pregnant?” she asked, barging into my living room.

I nodded. “Is Grayson with you?”

“No.” She tossed her bag onto my couch. “No, he is not with me, but he sent me to see you once he got your message.”

“Okay...So, is he coming tomorrow or another day?”

“He's not coming at all." She looked sympathetic and tapped a few things on her phone. "He's trying to move on and focus on his career, but he promised that he’ll fix this as long as you can prove that it's his. So, how much do you want for it?”

“It?”

“Yes. ‘It’ as in the albatross that’s currently growing inside your stomach. 'It' as in the anchor that you're hoping to tie around his neck in hopes of getting him to come back to you, even though it’ll probably never happen. Just say the amount and he promises to pay it.”

My heart dropped. “That’s what he said?”

“No, what he said was far crueler, but I would never repeat that.” She shrugged.

I stared at her.

“The quicker you tell me, the better. Of course, if you’re going to seek child support, you'll need to keep the lovechild a secret. Don't think about writing any books or going on any speaking tours."

“You can leave now, Anna.”

"A few last things," she said. "Grayson wants to make sure that you're not taking advantage of him and his future earnings, so you'll need to send me the ultrasound picture to confirm that you are pregnant. You'll also need to agree to go to a DNA lab of his choosing to make sure that the child is his and not someone else's." She picked up her purse and headed to the door. “So, just to recap, I’ll draw up the paperwork whenever there’s proof of your—” She glanced at my stomach and rolled her eyes. “Pregnancy. Unless of course—”