I barely made it to my room before my legs gave out.
I sat on the marble bathroom floor, still in my borrowed cocktail dress, hyperventilating like I'd just run a marathon. The cool tiles pressed against my back as I tried to make sense of what had just happened.
*Damien Wolfe.*
The name I'd been googling for three years. The father of my child. The man I'd given up hope of ever finding.
He was here. He was real. And he was marrying my former best friend in less than twenty-four hours.
I pressed my hands to my face, trying to stop the room from spinning. This couldn't be happening. This was some cosmic joke, some cruel twist of fate that only happened in bad soap operas.
But those were definitely his hands that had touched mine. That was definitely his voice asking if we'd met before
