"Why is he here?" I ask again, after getting no reply the first time. Christina and Will both shift uncomfortably. Tobias stands up and walks towards me.

"Can we please talk?" he asks. I shake my head and look at my son out of the corner of my eye. Lucas still has his eyes glues to the little boy who will live forever flying with a British girl.

"If you have something to say you can say it here because Lucas and I are leaving," I say. He looks me in the eyes and I return the gesture. I can momentarily see a shimmer of hurt in his eye. It's something I've hardly seen before. I remember seeing it when he told us about Marcus. Or after our first date where I snapped at him about telling secrets about who he really was. The look is so simple but yet it can show weakness. And this is why he washes it off his face.

"Tris, please. I want to explain. I want to tell you everything that happened. What happened in New York. The reasons for leaving. I think you deserve to know," he says. I look over at Christina and Will. They both are still on the couch looking very uncomfortable. Christina nods her head towards the kitchen a couple of times, trying to convince me to talk to him.

"Fine. You've got five minutes," I say to Tobias. I move my eyes to Christina. "Watch him please. I don't want him to hear some of the things that might be said," I say to her. She nods. Lucas's attention is, miraculously, still aimed at the television. How he hasn't gotten distracted works miracles on my mind. I lead Tobias into the kitchen and motion for him to sit at a bar stool at the island. He sits and stand on the other side of the island, leaning on the counter

"Why don't you sit, too?" he asks while motioning to the chairs next to him. I shake my head.

"No. It will be easier for me to restrain myself from choking you over here," I say. He doesn't seem shocked by my comment. He opens his mouth to say something but I cut him off. "Did you tell him?" I ask.

"Tell him what?" he asks. I laugh and shake my head. I walk forwards to the island and lean forwards. My arms rest on the counter with my hands clamped together.

"Tell him what? What is there to tell him? Oh wait, let's start off with the fact that you were more than just a friend. You were his mothers last boyfriend. Oh, but you also left her alone in New York pregnant. And who got his mother pregnant? You? Did you tell him that you got me pregnant?" I ask. I take a deep breath before asking him the next question. He has that pained look in his eyes again.He doesn't try to get rid of it this time, though. Instead, they stay in the eyes that are staring at me. "Did you tell him you were his father?" I ask.

"No. Zeke requested that I not do that. He said that I should wait for you. That we should decided together when we told him. It was hard to resist the urge to pick him up and hug him and never let him go," Tobias explains. I shake my head and study the rock on the counter tops. All the colors mixed together to make one thing. It seems so simple but yet it's one of the hardest things in the world.

"Well, he was right. You shouldn't tell him," I say. He studies my face and the pained expression goes away.

"When can we tell him?" he asks. I shrug and pretend to think. I place a finger on my chin and look up at the ceiling. Out of the corner of my eye I see Tobias crack a grin. When I look back at him with an upset expression the grin fades.

"Um, I might need to get my calendar from my car and talk to my publicist to make sure I don't have anything going on this date for the book but I think never would work," I say.

"Why shouldn't we tell him?" he asks. I shake my head and look out the window. The wind blows through the trees in their back yard. Once again, like many times, I have a yearning to be a tree. To just sit there and grow and take sunlight. To let people climb on me and not care. For young couples to carve their name in a little heart on my bark. Their job is so simple. To sit there and look pretty.

"Why shouldn't we tell him? So he can fall in love with you and have his heart ripped out when he goes back to school? Him sit there at Zeke's house and watch his father run across the screen, wishing he could be there with you instead? How is it fair to him that his father claimed that two years ago he didn't want anything to do with us. If you wanted to be in our son's life you should have stayed in New York. Or told me that you wanted to try to work things out where we could both go to our schools. You didn't have to leave me alone in New York in the middle of the night," I say. I feel a tear slip from my eye. He stretches his arm out to wipe it away but I smack his arm away and let it run down my face.

"Tris, I'm sorry. I thought you would be okay in New York on your own. You were strong and independent. I didn't think you needed me for anything. I thought you would be able to do your studies and raise a child. If I had known how terrible it turned out I wouldn't have left without warning," he says. Another tear slips down my face.

"But you didm't think it through did you? You went ahead and did what you wanted. Somewhere in your mind you convinced yourself that it would be okay to leave me and I child alone in one of the biggest cities in the United States, if not the world. But you wanted to do what was best for you so your mind twisted it into making it look like the best for us," I say. More tears stream out of my eyes. My vision blurs and I can just see the outline of images. It's like when you finish a depressing book. That moment when your favorite character dies and you can't make out the words because you can't see anything from the tears.

"Tris, I'm sorry," he says. I shake my head and wipes all the tears out of my eyes.

"We're done talking," is all I say when I walk out of the kitchen. Before I walk back into the living room, I stop in the bathroom. When I look in the mirror, I don't see the me who has recovered from her parents kicking her out and being a single parent. Instead, I see the me from New York. The version that had be left alone to fend for herself. And no matter how long I put a cool rag over my face to wash away the tears, she doesn't go away.

I'm sorry it took me so long to update. I've just been really busy with Christmas and all. So, I want to apalogize. I'm also trying to make the chapters a little bit longer than usual. If you think I should just make shorter chapters and more updates please tell me. Please tell me what you think by commenting and voting!

Disclaimer: Veronica Roth owns Divergent, not me.