I cleaned the house like I was being evaluated. Cooked her favorite pasta. Put on a dress. My stomach was flipping.
There was a knock. I opened the door—and my past hit me square in the face.
Emily stood there smiling, holding hands with a man behind her. He stepped forward, and my mind stalled.
Same brown eyes. Same jaw. Older, but unmistakably him.
“Mark?” I whispered.
His eyes widened. “Lena?”
Emily looked between us. “Wait. You know each other?”
“You could say that,” I said tightly. “Emily, take his coat. Mark, kitchen. Now.”
I pulled him into the kitchen.
“What is this?” I hissed. “You’re my age. You’re 20 years older than my daughter. And you’re my ex.”
He raised his hands. “Lena, I swear, I didn’t know she was your daughter at first.”
“At first,” I repeated. “So you figured it out.”
He swallowed. “Yeah. But I love her.”
Before I could go off on him, Emily walked in, arms crossed.
“Are you interrogating my boyfriend?”
“Emily,” I said, “this is Mark from high school. We dated for over a year.”
Her expression went blank. “You never told me that.”
“I didn’t know he was this Mark,” I snapped. “You never told me his last name. Or that he’s my age.”
Mark cleared his throat. “I know it’s strange,” he said. “But I care about her. I’m not going anywhere.”
Emily stepped closer to him, protective.
