Eleanor, struggling to maintain her composure, took a deep breath. “Why didn’t Jonathan tell me himself? Why did he keep this secret?”

“He was afraid,” Maya repeated. “Afraid of what it would mean for you, for your family. He thought… he thought you’d never accept us.”

Eleanor was silent, her eyes never leaving the child. The baby cooed again, a sound so innocent and pure that it tugged at something deep within her. Memories of Jonathan as a child flooded back—his laughter, his mischief, his dreams. Dreams that he now seemed to have passed on to this little one.

“Jonathan spoke of you often,” Maya continued, her voice steady despite the tears in her eyes. “He loved you dearly. He wanted to tell you, but he didn’t want to hurt you.”

Eleanor’s heart ached with an unfamiliar pain. It wasn’t just the loss of her son she was mourning now, but the lost opportunities, the unshared moments, the life that could have been.