Sally's POV
The school exceeded every expectation I had. Every staff member greeted us with genuine warmth, making the transition feel less daunting than I had feared. Maggie, the head teacher who insisted we skip the formal Mrs Dorothy title, listened to Warren's troubled school history without a flicker of judgment crossing her face.
The tour revealed bright classrooms filled with children's artwork and the kind of nurturing environment I desperately hoped would help Warren heal. By the time we finished walking through the building, my son had already struck up conversations with several kids his age. When it came time to leave, he actually protested, tugging at my sleeve and asking if he could stay longer.
Maggie offered a perfect compromise. Warren could start with half days tomorrow, then transition to full-time attendance next week. The relief washing over me was palpable.
Our stroll back through the village center had been peaceful. We stopped at a charming ice cream parlor where Warren chose chocolate chip while I opted for vanilla. Then we browsed a small craft shop, gathering art supplies so he could paint in the garden while I tackled the endless calls to utility companies.
The internet provider has me trapped on hold when someone knocks at the front door. I peek through the window at Warren, who remains absorbed in his painting in the back garden, brush in hand as he works on what appears to be a landscape. We aren't expecting anyone. Juliette hadn't mentioned stopping by today, and we're still strangers in this town.
Curiosity wins over caution, and I answer the door.
My pulse stutters when Karl's face appears before me, that familiar grin spreading across his features. My eyes dart instinctively to his hand, searching for the distinctive birthmark that would confirm my worst fears.
"Sorry to drop by without calling first, but I was in the neighborhood and thought maybe Warren would enjoy kicking a ball around," Philip says, a soccer ball tucked securely under his arm.
He's changed since our encounter hours earlier. The black shorts and t-shirt have been replaced by a soft blue shirt that makes his eyes appear even more striking, more ocean-like in their intensity.
"Actually, he's occupied right now," I manage, just as Warren bursts through the back door, his painting held high like a trophy.
"I finished it!" he announces proudly.
"Philip!" Warren shrieks with pure joy when he spots our visitor. He charges toward the door, his excitement making him careless. His untied shoelace catches under his foot, sending him tumbling hard against the wooden floor and the pristine wall.
"I'm fine," Warren declares before I can even process what happened.
"Easy there, buddy. No need to race around," Philip says gently.
I rush to help Warren stand, running my hands over his arms and legs to check for injuries. He seems unharmed, but his artwork lies destroyed on the floor. Worse, the once-perfect magnolia wall now bears streaks of blue, red, and yellow paint, creating what looks like a child's attempt at abstract art.
"Damn it," I whisper under my breath, hurrying to the kitchen for cleaning supplies. The landlord is scheduled to visit tomorrow, and this is definitely not the impression I want to make.
"I'm sorry, Mommy," Warren whispers, tears gathering in his bright eyes as he stares at the colorful mess.
"It's okay, sweetheart. Accidents happen," I soothe him while attacking the wall with a damp cloth. My efforts only seem to make things worse, spreading the paint in wider smears across the surface.
"Let me help. This is my fault for showing up unexpectedly," Philip offers, stepping inside and extending his hand for the cloth.
I'm about to refuse when the phone finally connects me to a customer service representative. I nod gratefully and pass the cleaning supplies to Philip, pressing the phone closer to my ear.
If I didn't desperately need internet access for work, I would have abandoned this call and tried again tomorrow. But their call center closes soon, and I have a manuscript deadline breathing down my neck.
The agent walks me through account setup and package options while I watch Philip and Warren work together on the wall. Their easy interaction surprises me. Once they've done what they can with the paint damage, they head to the back garden with the soccer ball.
I negotiate a reasonable deal on combined television and broadband service while observing them through the kitchen window. Warren's face radiates happiness as he runs around the small yard, his laughter carrying through the glass. Billy never engaged with him like this. Work always took priority, leaving him too exhausted or distracted for playtime. And sports were never my strength. Dad used to joke that I had two left feet and the coordination of a newborn giraffe.
Watching them play, my mind wanders to dangerous territory. What if Karl hadn't vanished from my life? What if we had built a family together over these past six years? Would our evenings look like this, with Karl and Warren playing in the yard while I prepared dinner?
I catch myself smiling at the fantasy and immediately shake my head. I need to focus on reality, not impossible dreams.
I need to ask Philip about siblings. That seems like the most natural way to determine if he knows Karl, because I refuse to believe they aren't twins. The resemblance is too striking to be coincidental.
But I can't ask while Warren is listening. If Philip reveals he's Karl's brother and something terrible happened, or if Karl wants nothing to do with Warren, I'll be exposing my son to unnecessary heartbreak.
After ending the call, I step outside. Philip grins at me immediately.
"I think you've got a future soccer star on your hands," he says.
"I scored a goal!" Warren announces, throwing both arms skyward in celebration.
"I saw that. Excellent work, Warren. That was an impressive shot," I praise him.
"Can Philip stay for dinner?" Warren asks, his hopeful blue eyes impossible to resist.
"I'm sure Philip has other plans," I deflect.
"Actually, I don't," Philip shrugs casually.
"Wonderful," I force enthusiasm I don't feel. Having him stay for dinner feels too intimate when we only met hours ago.
"How about I order takeout? There's an incredible Italian place that delivers, and their lasagna is absolutely divine," Philip suggests with an appreciative groan.
"I love lasagna," Warren nods eagerly.
"Three lasagna dinners it is," Philip confirms, looking to me for approval.
"That sounds perfect. And thank you for helping with the wall and entertaining Warren."
"My pleasure."
Despite my initial reluctance, I can see how much Warren enjoys Philip's company. It distracts him from missing Billy, and that alone makes this dinner worthwhile. Plus, it might give me opportunities to ask probing questions when Warren isn't within earshot.
Philip's recommendation proves accurate. The lasagna is extraordinary, each bite practically melting on my tongue. I have to suppress the same appreciative sounds he made earlier. After we finish eating, I send Warren upstairs to wash up and change into pajamas while we clear the table.
"You're really natural with children. Do you have many little ones in your family?" I ask, trying to sound casual rather than investigative.
"No, not in my immediate family, but there are quite a few kids in my... circle," he pauses, and I suspect he chose his words carefully.
"So you have family in town?"
"Not exactly. I grew up in foster care and only recently discovered I have a brother," he explains as we carry dirty dishes to the sink.
My heart hammers against my ribs and my breathing becomes shallow. I nearly lose my grip on the plates as my hands begin trembling.
"Older or younger brother?" I ask, my voice climbing several octaves higher than normal.
"I'm not entirely sure. We're twins, and neither of us knows who was born first, though I suspect I'm the older one," he chuckles.
"Does he live in town?"
"Yes, just outside the main area," he confirms.
Dizziness hits me suddenly, and I grab the counter edge to keep myself upright. I was right. He's Karl's twin brother, and Karl is alive and living practically next door. Is this destiny or the cruelest coincidence imaginable?
Words fail me completely. Should I tell him his twin fathered Warren? Should I demand he take me to Karl immediately or call him to come here? How do I navigate this revelation while protecting my son's heart?