Chapter 5: Paper, Proof, and Paternity

Everything went quiet again.

“You said your mom is Sarah Carter?” Nathan Carter asked, his voice suddenly low.

I nodded. “Mm-hmm.”

He stared at my face, squinting like he was searching for someone else’s reflection in my eyes. For a second, he looked almost scared, like maybe he wanted it to be true and didn’t at the same time.

Then, before anyone else could move, he scooped me up and strode toward the elevators. He lifted me like I was a box of office supplies, stiff and careful, as if I might break or explode.

Behind us, the other man called out, “Mr. Carter? Mr. Carter?”

I held onto his neck, my favorite cartoon backpack bouncing against my back. He didn’t really know how to hold a kid, so I had to wriggle until I fit just right in his arms.

“What are you squirming for?” he grumbled.

“Daddy, you’re not holding me right.”

He fell silent, letting me adjust.

“All right.”

He stared at me for a second, then asked, “How old are you?”

“Daddy, I’m four this year.”

He was quiet for a long time, then said, “Are all four-year-olds as heavy as you?”

I scowled. “Mom never says I’m heavy, and I never say you’re bad at carrying kids.”

The man in the elevator with us didn’t say a word, but his eyes kept darting to us like he was worried HR would show up at any second. I could almost see him writing the incident report in his head.

When the elevator doors opened, Nathan Carter carried me straight into an office. People peeked out as we passed, one woman whispering, “Assistant Reed, whose kid is Mr. Carter carrying?”

The man called Assistant Reed just shook his head.

Nathan put me on the couch, facing him across a giant desk. He brought over paper and a pen. “Didn’t you say your mom is Sarah Carter? Write her name down.”

The other man tried to help: “Mr. Carter, a four-year-old might not know how to write yet—”

Before he finished, I grabbed the pen and wrote ‘Sarah Carter.’ The letters were a little wobbly, but I’d never mess up Mom’s name.

Nathan looked at the paper for a long time, then back at me.

“Did your mom tell you I’m your dad?”

I shook my head.

He snorted. “Then how do you know I’m your dad? Maybe you’re her kid with someone else. Otherwise, why didn’t she bring you to find me?”

Comments popped up again.

[Stubborn guy. Excited inside, aren’t you?]

[So stubborn, no wonder he’s single.]

[If you want to know, just do a paternity test. Maddie, grab a few hairs from your dad.]

[LOL, the dad is probably already planning to accept her no matter what.]

[……]

I thought for a second, then reached up and started pulling my own hair. One—ouch. Two—ouch! I hesitated, flinching a little with each tug, but I wanted to prove I was brave. I wanted to prove I was his kid, even if it hurt. My eyes stung, but I kept going.

Nathan grabbed my hand. “What are you doing?”

I sniffled and put the hairs in his palm. “Daddy, go do a test, then you’ll know if I’m your kid.”

He froze. “Who taught you this? Your mom? Where is she?”

“Mom is at work.”

“Do you know your mom’s phone number? Call her to come pick you up.” Nathan’s voice was sharp, but there was something shaky underneath.

I shook my head, frowning. “I said, Mom is at work. Don’t bother her.”

“Is she at work or afraid to see me?”

“Mom didn’t do anything wrong. Why would she be afraid to see you?”

He just snorted again, his jaw tight. I could see him looking at the door, like he wanted to run out and find Mom right then, but he stayed put, breathing hard.