Chapter 3 - West Seattle Rain
The apartment complex on 42nd Avenue was a three-story brick building constructed in the 1970s. It had peeling paint along the exterior railings and a yellowing porch light that flickered against the damp air.
Logan parked his dark blue Bentley two blocks away. He didn't want the noise of the twin-turbo V12 to wake the neighborhood. Walking through the drizzle, his Italian leather shoes splashing through shallow puddles, he felt entirely out of place. He belonged in boardrooms with glass walls, private jets, and climate-controlled estates.
He stood outside Apartment 2B for five minutes before he found the courage to knock.
When his knuckles hit the worn wood, the sound was soft, hesitating.
Inside, he heard small, quick steps, followed by a faint rustle.
"Claire," he said loudly enough to carry through the door. "It's Logan. Please. I'm alone."
A lock clicked. The door opened four inches, held in place by a heavy brass security chain.
Claire stood in the gap. She was wearing a faded grey hoodie, her hair loose around her shoulders. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but her posture was rigid.
"Go away, Logan," she said, her voice devoid of warmth. "It's three in the morning."
"I know what my mother did," Logan said, his voice raw. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the true medical file from Oregon, pressing it against the crack in the door. "I have the real records. I know Harrison lied. I know my father set it up. I know everything."
Claire looked down at the papers, then back up at his face. She didn't look surprised.
"Congratulations," she said flatly. "You finally learned how to read a real report. Now go home."
"Claire, please," Logan begged, a word he hadn't spoken to another human being in over fifteen years. "They're my sons. Leo and Sam. I saw them. They have my face, Claire. How could you keep them from me?"
"How could I keep them from you?" Claire let out a sharp, bitter laugh that made Logan flinch. "Logan, you threw me out of your house! You told me I was useless to your family because I couldn't produce an heir! Do you have any idea what it felt like to stand in that clinic six months later and realize that my children’s father was the man who declared me broken?"
"I was lied to!" Logan slammed his palm against the doorframe, his composure slipping. "I was manipulated by my parents just as much as you were!"
"No, you weren't!" Claire snapped, stepping closer to the chain. "Your parents gave you false data, yes. But you chose how to handle it! You didn't fight for me, Logan! You didn't say, 'Claire, I love you, we'll adopt, or we'll find another way.' You looked at a piece of paper, decided I didn't meet your corporate specifications, and handed me over to your lawyers!"
The truth of her words crashed over him like cold ocean water.
She was right. The medical report had been the excuse, but his own coldness had been the weapon. He had treated his marriage as an asset that had lost its value.
"I was a fool," Logan whispered, his strength draining from him. "I was arrogant, and blind, and cruel. I know that now, Claire. God help me, I know it. But those boys... they deserve a father."
"They have a life," Claire said, her voice softening slightly, though her eyes remained hard as flint. "They have a mother who loves them, a safe home, and a quiet life. They don't need the Mercer name. They don't need press conferences, trust funds, or a grandmother who tried to buy them off."
"I don't care about the press! I don't care about the company!" Logan said fiercely. "I care about them!"
"Mommy?"
A small voice came from behind Claire inside the apartment.
Logan looked past her shoulder. Standing near the small kitchen table, wearing flannel pajamas with space rockets on them, was Sam. He was holding a stuffed blue dog, his dark eyes wide as he stared at the tall man at the door.
Claire turned quickly. "Sammy, sweetie, go back to bed. It's just a neighbor."
Sam didn't move. He walked slowly toward the door, his bare feet making soft tapping sounds on the laminate floor. He stopped right behind Claire, looking through the chain gap straight into Logan's eyes.
"You're the tall man from the hospital," Sam said softly. "The one Grandma talked about."
Logan felt a lump form in his throat so large he could barely breathe. He dropped to one knee on the cold concrete hallway floor, bringing himself down to the four-year-old's eye level.
"Hi, Sam," Logan said, his voice trembling uncontrollably. "Yeah... I'm the tall man."
Sam looked at Logan's face, then reached up and touched his own eyebrow, tracing the sharp angle that matched Logan's perfectly.
"Grandma said you were lost," Sam said innocently. "Are you still lost?"
Logan looked up from the boy to Claire. Tears finally spilled over his eyes, hot and silent.
May you like
"Yes, Sam," Logan whispered, his voice cracking. "I've been lost for five years."
Claire stood frozen, her hand clutching the doorframe, her expression torn between deep-seated anger and the sudden, overwhelming weight of the grief they had both buried half a decade ago.
