HEALING THE SCARS

CHAPTER 30

DYLAN

I watch as Penelope pulls the boy into her arms, holding him close like she's afraid he might slip away. My heart clenches at the sight. Who is this kid? Is he the reason she left me? Has she found someone else? I can't see his face clearly—she's shielding him, keeping him out of my sight—but something in the pit of my stomach twists with a sense of dread.

Then the boy lifts his head, and I finally see him. His eyes are red and swollen, tears still wet on his cheeks. He must have been crying from the pain in his leg; I remember him mentioning it before Mabel whisked him away. But there's something more—something familiar in the set of his jaw, the curve of his mouth. It's like looking into a mirror, seeing a reflection of someone I know but can't quite place.

"Mum, who is this man? Is he Aunty Mabel's husband? Has he come for my birthday tomorrow?" the boy asks, his small voice filled with innocent curiosity.

Mum. The word echoes in my mind, confirming my deepest fears. Penelope is his mother. But who the hell is his father? The thought of another man touching her, making a life with her, ignites a burning rage inside me. She was mine. She *is* mine. Whoever fathered this boy has to know that.

"How old are you turning, little man?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady, though my mind is spinning, desperate to connect the pieces.

"I'll be turning six tomorrow," he says, pride gleaming in his eyes.

Six. The word knocks the breath out of me. Six years? That can't be a coincidence. But it can't be real either... can it?

"You need to leave, Dylan. Please," Penelope's voice cuts through the fog of my thoughts, trembling with fear and resolve.

But I can't let this go. I step closer, my eyes locking onto hers, searching for answers. "Is he my son?" I ask, the words spilling out before I can stop them, my heart pounding in my chest. "Penelope, is he my son?"

Her silence is damning. She doesn't deny it. She doesn't confirm it either. Instead, Mabel steps in, her tone sharp and commanding. "Leave now, Dylan. You have no right to be here."

I shift my gaze to Mabel, my voice cold and demanding. "You knew, didn't you? You knew where she was all this time, and you said nothing. Why, Mabel? Why did you hide this from me?"

Mabel stiffens, her eyes narrowing. "Because I saw what you did to her. I saw how you hurt her, how you broke her. She needed to get away from you, Dylan. She needed to protect herself and her child."

Her child. My child. The realization crashes over me like a tidal wave, leaving me reeling. I turn back to Penelope, desperation clawing at my insides. "For Christ's sake, answer me!" I shout, my voice rising in frustration.

The boy flinches, his small body tensing, but then he does something that stuns me—he marches up to me, fists clenched, his little face full of defiance. "Hey, mister, stop shouting at my mom!"

I blink, taken aback by his courage. This small, fierce boy, standing up to me, defending Penelope with everything he has... is this my son?

"Mabel, could you please take Jason and Andrew home for me?" Penelope asks quietly, her voice shaking with the weight of what she's about to say.

Mabel doesn't hesitate, her protective instinct kicking in as she gathers the boys and heads for the door. But before she leaves, I grab her arm, my grip tight with anger. "You should have told me, Mabel. You had no right to keep this from me."

She pulls her arm free, her gaze hard. "And you had no right to treat her the way you did, Dylan. She did what she had to do. She survived."

With that, Mabel leaves, taking the boys with her. The door closes behind them, and the silence that follows is suffocating. I turn back to Penelope, who's now sitting in a chair, her face pale, her hands trembling.