Back with His Twins for Christmas

Chapter 22

POV Charlotte

The resort hummed with life I hadn't heard in years.

Guests filled every available space—the lobby crowded with families checking in, the restaurant overflowing during meal service, the spa booked solid through New Year's. Staff rushed between tasks with an energy that bordered on frantic, their faces flushed with purpose instead of the despair.

I sat in a small office off the main corridor, conducting interviews for the social media team that would continue creating content after I left.

The success of our campaign meant we needed permanent staff now—people who could maintain the momentum I'd built, who understood engagement strategies and audience analytics and the particular magic of making a struggling resort feel like the most desirable destination in Colorado.

The young woman across from me—Brianna, according to her resume—was explaining her approach to Instagram Reels when my phone buzzed with an unknown number.

I glanced at it, ready to decline, but something made me pause. Instinct, perhaps. Or exhaustion lowering my defenses after weeks of crisis management and emotional upheaval.

"Excuse me for just a moment," I said, rising from my chair with what I hoped was professional composure. "I need to take this. Please, look over the content calendar—I'd love your thoughts when I return."

I stepped into the hallway, pressing the phone to my ear. "Charlotte Evergreen speaking."

The voice on the other end was female, young, hesitant in a way that immediately put me on alert.

"Hi, um, is this Charlotte? The one who works with Evergreen Peaks Resort? I'm sorry to bother you, but my name is Hallie, and I was hoping I could have just a moment of your time."

I leaned against the wall, curiosity overriding my better judgment. "I'm listening."

"This is going to sound strange, and I promise I'm not trying to cause problems or anything like that." Hallie's voice wavered, cracking slightly on the last words. "I know Tom Bradley. We met at a private party a few months ago—one of his investor friends was hosting, and Tom was there, and we... we started seeing each other."

My fingers tightened around the phone, but I kept my voice neutral. "Go on."

"I didn't know he was involved with anyone, I swear. He never mentioned a girlfriend or a family or anything like that. He was charming and attentive and he made me feel special, and I was stupid enough to believe it meant something."

She laughed bitterly, the sound catching in her throat.

"Then I found out I was pregnant. And when I told him, he just... disappeared. Blocked my number, ignored my emails, acted like I didn't exist. Like I'd never existed."

Of course.

Of course Tom had someone else. The man collected women like trophies, discarding them the moment they became inconvenient.

"How did you find this number?" I asked carefully.

"I saw his social media post," Hallie explained, her voice steadying slightly. "There was a photo of him with you, something about family, and your business contact was tagged in the image. I found the resort's page and called the main line, and they transferred me to you. I'm so sorry if this is inappropriate—I just didn't know what else to do. I'm not looking for drama or money or anything like that. I just want to know if the father of my child has any intention of being present. Even a little bit. Even occasionally."

I remembered the photo Tom had posted—I'd been annoyed at the time, uncomfortable with his public performance of a relationship that existed only in his manipulative imagination. But I'd been grateful he hadn't shown the twins' faces or claimed them as his own. Small mercies.

Now, listening to this stranger's trembling voice, I recognized the situation for what it was: leverage. A way out. A chance to remove Tom from my life permanently while giving Hallie's child an opportunity at a father, however flawed he might be.

But I needed to be strategic. Needed to verify before I acted.

"Hallie, I'm going to ask you something directly, and I need you to answer honestly," I said, my voice gentler now. "What do you actually want from this situation? What outcome are you hoping for?"

There was a long pause before she responded, her words careful and measured.

"I plan to have the baby regardless of what Tom decides. I'm twenty-six, I have a stable job, I can do this alone if I have to. But I'd like to know if he wants to be involved. I'm not interested in marriage or forcing something that isn't there. I genuinely liked him before I discovered what kind of person he really is, but I'm not delusional enough to think we have a future together."

Another pause, heavier this time.

"I just want honesty. That's all. I want to know where I stand so I can plan accordingly."

Something in her voice reminded me of myself years ago—pregnant and terrified and desperately trying to maintain control over a situation that had spiraled beyond all recognition. I made a decision.

"I can help you navigate this," I said slowly, "but only if you can prove your claims. I need evidence—screenshots of your conversations with Tom, pregnancy tests, ultrasound images. Anything concrete that confirms what you're telling me is true. I've known Tom for a long time, and I've learned not to act on anything I can't verify."

"Of course, absolutely." Relief flooded Hallie's voice. "I have all of that. I kept everything because I was afraid he might try to deny it later. I can send you whatever you need."

She hesitated, then asked in a smaller voice, "Can I ask you something? Are you... hurt by this? By finding out he was cheating? I feel terrible about that. If you're his wife or his girlfriend, I'm so sorry. I genuinely didn't know."

I almost laughed. The assumption was reasonable, given Tom's performance over the past weeks, but the reality was so much more complicated.

"Tom is a family friend," I said firmly. "Nothing more. He's been helping with an investment in my parents' resort. We have never been together in any meaningful way, and we never will be. Whatever he told you about his personal life, I can assure you I'm not the woman he was hiding from you."

The relief in Hallie's voice was audible, a rush of exhaled breath that carried weeks of guilt and worry.

"Oh thank God. I've been so stressed about this, imagining some poor woman finding out her husband was cheating, having to be the one who destroyed someone's marriage."

"Send me everything you have," I said. "My email is on the resort's contact page. Once I've reviewed it, I'll reach out and we can discuss next steps. And Hallie? Thank you for calling. This took courage."

"Thank you for listening," she whispered. "I was so afraid you'd hang up on me."

I ended the call and stood in the hallway for a long moment, processing. Then I returned to my interview, apologizing to Brianna for the interruption, forcing my attention back to engagement metrics and content calendars while my mind raced through possibilities.

Twenty minutes later, my phone buzzed with email attachments.

I excused myself again, stepping into an empty room to review what Hallie had sent.

Text conversations with unmistakable intimacy—pet names, promises, the kind of vulnerability that only came from genuine connection. A positive pregnancy test, the date clearly visible. Ultrasound images from within the last month, a small bean-shaped blur that represented Tom's consequences finally catching up with him.

Everything I needed.

Tom had leverage over me because of his money, his threats, his willingness to destroy everything I loved. But now I had leverage too.

I returned to finish my interview feeling lighter than I had in weeks.