Two Little Secrets From My Boss

Chapter 48

[POV Daphne]

Xander had texted that he'd be at the office late dealing with the board crisis, and the girls were spending the night with Charlotte after their playdate. I'd been looking forward to the silence in my home, to an evening of processing everything that had happened without needing to perform strength for anyone else.

Instead, I walked through the door to find two people sitting on my couch as if they'd never left my life at all.

My mother stood first, her hands clasped in front of her chest, tears already streaming down her cheeks. She looked older than I remembered—grayer, smaller, the lines around her eyes deeper. My father rose more slowly, his expression a mixture of hope and uncertainty that made my stomach turn.

"Daphne," my mother's voice cracked. "Oh, thank God. We were so worried about you."

I stood frozen in the entryway, my keys still dangling from my fingers. "How did you get in here?"

"The doorman," my father cleared his throat. "We explained we were your parents, that we'd come a long way to see you. He was very accommodating."

The shock of seeing them both in my house didn’t let me go, so I had nothing to add here. Of course, he was accommodating. The staff had been briefed to recognize the family. They had no way of knowing that these particular family members hadn't spoken to me in years.

"You shouldn't be here," my voice came out flat, distant. "You should have called first."

"We tried," my mother stepped forward, her hands reaching toward me. "We've been trying for weeks, actually, but you never answered. We didn't know what else to do."

"So you just showed up? Uninvited? In my home?"

"We saw the news of your marriage, dear. And then—the stories about Xander's company, about the school incident with the girls,” she said it like it explained everything, like worry absolved them of boundaries, of history, of the five years they'd spent pretending I didn't exist. “We had to make sure you were safe."

"I'm fine. You can leave now."

"Daphne, please," my father's voice was rough, unfamiliar. "We know we handled things badly. But we're here now because we want to be part of our granddaughters' lives."

The word hit me like a slap. They had no right to that word, no claim to those children they'd never held, never comforted, never watched take their first steps.

"You don't have granddaughters," my voice came out cold. "You have two little girls whose existence you condemned before they were even born."

"That's not fair," my mother stepped forward, her hands trembling. "We were scared and confused—"

"You knew exactly how to react. You reacted by telling me to get rid of them."

My mother's face went pale. My father looked at the floor. "We never said those exact words," he muttered.

"You said, 'There are options, Daphne. You don't have to go through with this,'" my voice cracked. "You made it very clear what option you preferred."

"We were trying to protect you," my mother's tears fell freely now. "You were so young, so unprepared."

Something snapped inside me. "You wanted me to erase my children so your bridge club wouldn't whisper about your unwed pregnant daughter. You cared more about appearances than about me."

"That's not true—"

"It is!" I was shouting now, my whole body shaking. "You cared more about what the neighbors would think than about the baby's right to exist."

My father raised his hands. "We've had years to think about what we did wrong. All we're asking is for a chance to know Nina and Lisa."

"You know their names, how sweet," the realization made my stomach turn. "You've been following their lives from a distance like strangers."

"We're their grandparents, and we have the right to know them. If you allowed us to visit—"

"Grandparents show up!" The words tore from my throat. "And hold babies when they're sick at three in the morning, and send birthday cards and attend school plays. You did none of that. You forfeited that title the day you told me I was on my own."

My mother sank onto the couch. "We thought you'd come back, that after a few months, you'd realize you needed us."

"So, you were waiting for me to fail?" A bitter laugh escaped me. "For your daughter to crawl back broken so you could say 'I told you so'?"

"We would help when you were ready to accept it."

"I was ready the day I told you I was pregnant!" I felt the tears streaming down my face. "I was terrified and alone and I needed my parents. Instead, I got ultimatums."

"What do you want us to do, Daphne? We can't change the past."

"Now, after I gave birth with only Charlotte holding my hand because my own mother couldn't be bothered to answer her phone, it is too late."

"You called during labor?" My mother's voice was barely a whisper.

"Three times. I left messages begging you to come. And guess what? You never called back."

The silence was suffocating. My father looked like he'd aged ten years.

"Those girls don't know you exist," I said, my voice hollow. "I've never mentioned you. As far as Nina and Lisa are concerned, they have one grandmother, and that's complicated enough."

"We could start fresh," my mother looked up with desperate hope. "We could be introduced gradually—"

"No, you don't get to sneak into their lives through the back door."

"Then what do you expect from us?"

"I don't know," I wiped my face, suddenly exhausted. "I spent years imagining this conversation, but now that you're here, I just feel empty."

My mother rose slowly. "We'll give you space. There's a motel nearby—we'll stay as long as you need. However long it takes."

The door closed behind them with a soft click.

I stood alone, my body trembling with emotions I'd buried for years. They wanted forgiveness, willing to rewrite our history into something more palatable, but I wasn’t sure I could give it. The girl who'd cried herself to sleep wanting her mother—that version of me had died somewhere between the first sleepless night and the thousandth diaper change.

Maybe that would change someday, and time would soften this wound enough to let them in. But not today.