Six years had passed since you and Alfred broke up. He told you he needed to chase his dream and you were only holding him back.

It shattered you, knowing he could’ve chased it with you by his side. But you let him go without telling him you were pregnant.

Now, you're home after picking up your son from school.

“Just a quick bath, okay?” you said with a soft smile.

He nodded, running off. He looked so much like Alfred… But warmer. Gentler.

“Yes, Mommy!”

Then your phone rang. You glanced at the screen. Alfred. You never changed your number. Never deleted his contact.

“Hey,” came his voice—calm, familiar. “How’ve you been?”

It was the first time in six years you’d heard his voice again. Your heart clenched.

“Wrong number,” you replied coldly, ready to hang up.

“Right voice,” he said.

You froze. Silence stretched between you.

“Wrong time,” you whispered.

Just then, your son peeked out of the bathroom, water dripping from his bangs.

“Mommy, I’m done! Who are you talking to?”

Alfred went quiet. You knew he heard that.

“I… didn’t know you were married already,” he said softly, like the words choked him. He assumed you already have a family.

If only he knew… the boy calling you Mommy was his own son.