“Caine! Could it really be you?” The woman rushes with an agility that defies her size. She cups my face in her wrinkled hands. When she looks up at me, her eyes have filled with water.

What the fuck?

When I saw Pop and told him Bertha Jones was visiting relatives, he immediately knew where to find her.

He then insisted that I fly to Denver the very next day, which pissed me off because I’d just gotten home. Just because I travel a lot already doesn’t mean I like moving around so much in such a short time frame.

I literally told him, “We have her phone number. Why can’t you just call her yourself?”

Know what he said? “No, it has to be in person.”

That’s all. He didn’t even want to explain why, but put me through some bullshit to guilt-trip me into going. Which worked, annoyingly.

So, instead of going home for just one night, I decided to drive to the airport right away, with Daisy in the passenger seat.

I didn’t want to bother with unpacking and repacking my bag again. I thought I’d see Bertha Jones, have a short conversation, and fly back home. I finally have Daisy right where I want her, wrapped around my finger, and I’d like to enjoy it while it lasts.

Now, I don’t know if that was the right decision.

I’m sleep-deprived after the red-eye flight, but I can still handle a level-headed, light-hearted chat with my father’s old friend. Instead, I’m confronted by an emotional stranger who recognizes me as soon as she opens the front door.

“Bertha Jones?” I ask.

“Yes, dear. That’s me.” She pulls me into a hug and continues to cry into my chest, her tears soaking into my shirt.

“Can we sit down somewhere and talk?”

“Of course.” Bertha sniffles as she pulls away, her hands remaining on my arms. “You’re such a big, handsome man now.”

I give her a polite smile. I still have no idea what’s happening so it’s probably best to say nothing for now.

“And who’s this lovely young lady?” Bertha asks, shifting her attention to Daisy, who’s been standing awkwardly behind me on the porch.

“Hi, I’m Daisy.”

“Very nice to meet you, dear. Come in.”

The little bun of silver hair on Bertha’s head bobs up and down as she walks in front of me. A sweet smell fills the entire house. Laughter, shrieks, and conversation drifts out from the kitchen, where I see three adults and two kids making a mess on the stone counter.

“We’re baking,” Bertha says. “I would’ve made the cupcakes last night if I knew you were coming, so you could have some now.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

The hallway opens into a living room with a couple of couches, where she tells us to sit.

“What brings you here?” Sitting beside me, Bertha fixes her sparkling blue eyes on me, her face excited and impassioned.

“My father wanted me to see you—”

“Oh!” Bertha raises her hands to cover her mouth and her eyes start to water again. “How is Robbie doing?”

Robbie? Just how close are they?

“He’s doing okay. He’s been having some minor health problems, but the doctors say that’s normal for his age.”

“Oh, I’m really glad to hear that.” She seems genuinely pleased by the news, which means they really haven’t connected with each other for a long time. So she’s not one of Pop’s recent lovers.

“He says he wants to see you, but he understands if you don’t.” I repeat my Pop’s message, word for word. It seems important to him that I relay this message accurately.

“Of course I want to see him,” Bertha replies quickly. “All this time I thought he didn’t want to see me.”

“I’m sorry, but I have to ask. How do you know each other?” If Pop’s not going to tell me, I can at least find out from Bertha.

“He hasn’t told you?” Bertha furrows her brows.

“I don’t know what he’s supposed to have told me.”

“Oh, dear.”

“He said it’ll be clear when I see you.”

“Oh, dear,” she repeats. She takes my hand and sandwiches it between both her hands. She scoots forward and angles her body to the side toward me. “I suppose that means he wants me to be the one to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“Caine.” Bertha takes a big breath and holds it in for a few seconds before exhaling. She hesitates. Her eyes, which are still looking intensely at me, look troubled. “I don’t know how to say this, so I suppose I’ll just tell you the whole story from the beginning.”

“Please do,” I say, gripped by curiosity.

“Your father and I… We used to… We used to see each other,” she says.

So they were lovers, after all.

Bertha swallows, then continues, “That was thirty-six years ago.”

My heart starts to beat faster. No. She can’t mean…

I frown and look deep into her eyes, searching for truth. There’s no guile in those eyes. This is a good, honest woman. She’s not lying, and she knows exactly how I’d interpret her words.

“You mean…when my mother was still alive and married to him?”

“Yes,” she says with pain and regret in her voice.

I expected her answer, but I’m still taken aback. Maybe my parents didn’t have the best marriage, or the warmest relationship, but I never came across any indication that he’d cheated on her.

“I didn’t know he was married, though. Not in the beginning, at least. Not until it was too late,” she adds.

“What do you mean by ‘too late’?” I can already guess her answer. Deep down, I already know. I’ve had my suspicions for as long as I can remember.

“Well, it was too late when I got pregnant, dear. With you.”

She looks up at me with concern in her eyes, searching my face for signs of shock, or distress, or something. But I’ve trained myself to put on a good poker face.

“I’m your biological mother. I gave birth to you,” she says, making sure I understand.

“I’m sorry. I have to go.” The words glide out of my mouth without even thinking.

I get up and quickly follow the path we took coming in, before this crazy revelation. Bertha calls my name from somewhere behind me, but her voice grows fainter and fainter.

This is crazy. Too crazy to be true. She must be crazy.

Pop didn’t send me here so Bertha Jones can tell me she’s my biological mother. This must be some kind of a joke.

With my heart racing, I walk out the front door and slam it behind me. I get into the rental car and drive away.

I don’t even know where I’m going.