“I make $17,500 a month, sometimes more, with bonuses. I’m not struggling, Graham. I’ve never been struggling. I have more money in savings than most people make in three years.”

“I don’t—I don’t understand.” He slowly stood up, the ring box closing in his palm. “Why would you lie about that?”

“Because three years ago, I was engaged to a man named Bradley. We were together for two years. When he found out I made more money than him, he couldn’t handle it. He said I was intimidating and emasculating. He left me for a waitress and married her three months later.”

Graham’s expression shifted from confusion to something softer. Understanding, maybe, or the beginning of it.

“I was devastated,” I continued. “It broke something in me. It made me think my success was a character flaw—that I needed to hide who I was to be loved. So when I met you, I created a test. I wanted to see how you would treat a woman you thought had nothing. If you could love me when I appeared to be broke and struggling, then you deserve to know the real me.”

“A test.” His voice was flat. “Our entire relationship has been a test.”

“Yes.”

Silence stretched between us. The coffee shop noise faded to a distant hum. Even Rosie went quiet as if she understood the gravity of the moment.

“There’s more, isn’t there?” Graham said quietly.

I nodded, my throat tight.

“Rosie?” he asked. “What about her?”

“She’s not my daughter.”

Graham’s face went pale. “What?”

“She’s my friend Tiffany’s baby. Tiffany got pregnant unexpectedly, had Rosie, and immediately realized she wasn’t ready to be a mother. I’ve been helping take care of her—practically raising her—for the past eight months. I pay Tiffany $800 a month, but biologically Rosie isn’t mine.”

Graham took a step back, then another. He ran his hands through his hair, the universal gesture of a man trying to process too much information at once.

“So the struggling single mom wasn’t struggling.”

“No.”

“And the baby I thought was yours isn’t.”

“No.”

Continued on the next page