I Dreamed the Perfect Blind Date Was Lying To Me Chapter 12

“You went to Julie? What did she tell you? How did you—”

“Mr. Hamilton,” I cut him off, my voice colder than his urgency. “It doesn’t matter what she told me. What matters is what you told me. You said you don’t have children.”

His breathing was heavy on the other end.

“I was going to tell you at the right time. We hadn’t even defined the relationship yet. There was no reason to bring it up—”

“No reason? You had Mrs. Walsh set up the date. You showed up outside my office. You took my parents to dinner and gave them gifts. And you call that ‘not defined’?”

He didn’t answer.

I stood by my window, looking down at the street below. A delivery truck splashed through a puddle.

“Derek, I’m not going to marry you. Not because you’re divorced. Not because you have a child. Because you lied to me. You treated everyone like chess pieces. Mrs. Walsh. My parents.”

The line was silent for a long time.

Then he said something that confirmed exactly who he was. “Who do you think you are to be so picky?”

His voice was low, finally stripped of pretense, cold. “Thirty-two. No prospects. Your parents are desperate. You really think you have other options?”

My grip tightened on the phone. Blood rushed to my head.

But I didn’t get angry. I smiled into the phone. “Derek, I do have options. My option is not you.”

Then I hung up, blocked the number, and blocked every path he had to reach me.

I stood by the window and exhaled deeply.

The wind blew through the screen, messing up my hair, and I tucked it behind my ear.

My hands didn’t shake, not one bit.

The next two weeks were calm; Derek didn’t reappear.

Mrs. Walsh called a few times to apologize, saying she truly didn’t know and would never set anyone up again. I told her not to blame herself, she hadn’t done anything wrong.

My mom didn’t mention blind dates anymore. Instead, she started sending me things, a box of fruit the first week, a scarf the second week.

No message. Just the packages with “I love, Mom” on the label.

I knew it was her way of making up for it.

Work went on as usual. At the office by eight thirty, home by seven or eight, sometimes overtime until ten.

One night I worked until ten thirty and went downstairs to pick up a food delivery.

The delivery driver handed me the bag, and I turned to walk back inside.

After a few steps, something felt wrong. I stopped and looked back.

Across the street, in the dark, a black sedan was parked.

My heart skipped.

I couldn’t be sure it was him, too far to see the plate.

I didn’t linger but turned and walked quickly back into the building.

Back at my desk, I stood by the window and looked down.

The car was gone.

I wasn’t sure if it was a coincidence.

But that night, I changed my locks, a smart lock, and bought a doorbell camera. I mounted it above my shoe cabinet, angled toward the hallway.

After I finished, I sat on the couch and looked at my empty living room.

If my mom were here, she would say I was overreacting.

But the lesson from the dream was too fresh, it was still living in my head, every image crystal clear.

I couldn’t take risks.

A few days later, Clara called. “I talked to Julie Mitchell.”

“How did it go?”

“Her situation is complicated. But not hopeless. Derek’s custody arrangement was written in his favor, but in practice, he hasn’t been fulfilling his parenting duties.”

“The child has been with his grandmother. If we can gather enough evidence, including his lying on blind dates as evidence of character, there’s a chance to overturn.”

“Is she willing to fight?”

“She’s hesitating. I understand. He has connections in the military. She’s afraid of retaliation.”

I thought for a moment. “Tell her she’s not alone. If she wants to fight this, I’ll cover the costs.”

Clara paused on the line. “Emily, are you serious? You met her once.”

“Yes. But I understand her.”

I paid the retainer. It wasn’t a small amount, but it was enough to show commitment.

Julie hesitated for three days, then she agreed.

Clara began gathering evidence, school records, Derek’s actual visit frequency, neighbor statements, an assessment of the grandmother’s health. One piece at a time.

I didn’t tell anyone about this.

I didn’t even feel the need to confront Derek directly, that was too cheap.

I only needed to do one thing: help a mother take back her child.

That was enough.