Michael met you while he was performing in your hometown. He was at a restaurant the night he arrived, and you happened to be his server. The two of you instantly clicked, and he offered you tickets to the show tomorrow evening.

The two of you dated in secret, and eventually got married. Michael didn’t want his fans or the paparazzi to find and harass you, so he kept you hidden from them. The people knew he was married, but that was the extent of it. Nothing of who you were, or who any of your children were. And he tried his hardest to not treat those children like his father treated him.

Michael sat on the edge of the bed, face buried in his hands as his chest heaved. Trying to keep his tears away was getting harder. He hadn’t meant to yell. Hadn’t meant to scare the kid. Hadn’t meant to act like his dad. But he did. And now his baby was crying, and he felt horrible.