**Diary Entry 12th June**
I was waiting for an Uber in central London when I spotted hermy ex, Anna Whitmore, whom I hadnt seen in six years. She was holding hands with two children who looked like miniature versions of me. I wasnt ready for what came next.
They stood by the kerb outside a bookshop in Covent Garden, fiddling with matching navy-blue caps and giggling at some private joke. Both had sandy blond hair, the same faint dimple on their left cheeks, and the restless energy I remembered from my own childhood. They couldnt have been more than five or sixstill young enough to sprint everywhere instead of walk.
My Uber app said the driver was three minutes away. I checked the map, then glanced back at the boys.
Then she stepped out of the shop.
Anna.
For a moment, I thought I was imagining things. I hadnt seen her since that cold November morning when we ended things. She wore a cream jumper and dark jeans, her hair slightly shorter but still that soft chestnut brown I remembered. She looked older, but in a way that suited hermore grounded, more settled.
When she reached for the boys hands, something tightened in my chest.
The Uber notification chimed. Two minutes.
I could leave. Get in the car, head to my meeting, and pretend this never happened. But my feet stayed rooted to the pavement.
Anna noticed me as she adjusted the younger boys backpack strap. Her eyes widenednot with shock, but with recognition and a flicker of hesitation.
“Oliver,” she said carefully.
“Anna.” My throat went dry. “Hi.”
The boys stared at me, curious. The older one tilted his head. “Whos that, Mum?”
*Mum.*
The word hit harder than I expected.
“An old friend,” Anna said after a pause. “Oliver, these are my sons, Henry and James.”
They gave me little waves. Henry, the elder, had my exact eye colourhazel with a thin ring of green. James had my nose. I told myself I was imagining it, but the resemblance was impossible to ignore.
“They seem like good lads,” I said, sounding steadier than I felt.
“Thank you.” Anna smiled, though it didnt reach her eyes.
Silence settled between us, thick with six years of unspoken words.
“So you live around here?” I asked, more to keep her there than out of genuine curiosity.
“Not far. We moved back about a year ago.”
The Uber icon showed the car turning onto the street.
I hesitated. I wanted to ask about the boysabout their father. But the last time we spoke, I was the one who walked away. Back then, I was too focused on building my company, convinced love and ambition couldnt coexist. Now, a multimillionaire with a penthouse but no one to share it with, that choice felt far less clear-cut.
The boys were distracted by a passing Labrador, giving me a moment alone with Anna.
“They look” I trailed off. “Happy. Thats good.”
“They are,” she said softly. “Weve managed.”
I nodded, though part of me burned to ask more.
The Uber pulled up. The driver rolled down the window. “Oliver?”
I glanced at the car, then back at Anna. She was holding the boys hands again, ready to go.
“It was nice seeing you,” I said.
“You too.” She tightened her grip on her phone.
I got into the car, but as we drove off, I turned to look back. The boys were watching us, and for a split second, Jamess crooked grinidentical to mine in old family photosmade my chest ache.
I had no idea that brief encounter would unravel a truth capable of rewriting the last six years of my life.
**Part Two The Truth**
I hadnt planned on seeing Anna again. But life, messy and unpredictable, doesnt care much for plans.
Three days later, as I left a café in Mayfair, I heard my name. Anna stood across the street, a shopping bag in hand. The boys werent with her.
“Got a minute?” she asked.
We ended up on a bench in Hyde Park, her bag at her feet. No small talk this time.
“I owe you an explanation,” she began. “About the boys.”
I braced myself. “Anna, you dont have to”
“Theyre yours, Oliver.”
The words hit like a punch. For a moment, all I heard was the distant hum of traffic.
I blinked. “I what?”
“After we split, I found out I was pregnant. I tried calling, but your number had changed. I emailed, but you never replied. I thought youd made it clear you didnt want this kind of life.”
I stared at her. “I never got anything. No calls, no emails.”
Her brow furrowed. “I used your old work address.”
“I sold that company a month after we broke up. Changed everything.”
Silence settled between us, heavy with six lost years.
“I didnt know how to find you,” she said quietly. “And I wasnt going to chase someone whod already left.”
I exhaled sharply, my mind racing through all Id missedfirst words, first steps, birthdays. Two whole childhoods I hadnt known were mine.
“Henry and James,” I repeated slowly, savouring the names in a new light. “Theyre my sons.”
Anna nodded.
For the first time since our breakup, she didnt seem guarded. Just tiredlike someone whod carried too much alone for too long.
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. “I want to be part of their lives.”
She studied me. “Its not that simple. They dont know who you arenot like that. And Ive been their only parent. Theyre everything to me.”
“Im not trying to take them from you,” I said firmly. “I just cant walk away again. Not now.”
Her expression softened slightly, though the uncertainty lingered. “Wed have to take it slow.”
“I can do slow,” I said. “But I cant do nothing.”
We talked for another hour, piecing together a fragile plana lunch the following week, with me just “Mums friend Oliver” for now. No big revelations until the boys were ready.
As we parted, Anna looked at me with something close to relief. “Youve changed,” she said.
“Maybe. Or maybe I finally figured out what matters.”
That night, in my penthouse overlooking the city, I sat in silence, replaying the day. For years, Id thought success meant building something from nothing. But now I knew the truth: the most important thing Id ever build hadnt even started yettwo children, and a second chance.
