He Stole My Son's Face

The night Beckett decided to go public with Serenahis golden girl, his untouchable museI took my boy-girl twins straight to the backstage entrance of the Film Academy Gala.

The security guard blocked me, his face tight with impatience, probably marking me as another obsessive stalker fan. A couple of fansite girls standing nearby with telephoto lenses sneered at me.

I didn't say a word.

But Maisy looked at the giant digital poster of Beckett on the wall, then tugged her brother's sleeve. "Todd, look. That man stole your face."

That was when everyone finally noticed the two children standing on either side of me. They looked exactly like Beckett Wardthe newly crowned Best Actor.

The guard blinked, looking from Todd to the screen, his voice losing its edge. "Who... who are you, exactly?"

"I'm Beckett Ward's first love."

Back in our cramped apartment, as I was pouring milk for the kids, a glowing line of texta live chat comment, like a Twitch stream overlayfloated directly across my vision:

[The ex-girlfriend is still in her cheap rental pouring milk. Its so sad I want to laugh.]

[She doesnt even know, does she? Beckett wasn't the one who sent that breakup text back then.]

The milk carton slipped from my fingers, hitting the linoleum with a wet thud.

Maisy looked down, her tiny brow furrowing with distress. "Mommy, it leaked."

I didn't hear her. On the television, Beckett was standing at the end of the red carpet. Black tuxedo, silver cufflinks.

Three years ago, he wasn't an Oscar winner. He lived in a cramped, five-hundred-square-foot apartment in East LA. Hed come home from set covered in dust and crouch in our tiny kitchen to make me instant ramen.

"Gill, as soon as my first movie airs, were going public."

But that movie never got its release. He had a terrible accident on set.

And then, I received a text from his phone: "Don't come looking for me." Just six words.

I stared at those six words all night. The next morning, I went into early labor.

The twins were born premature. They spent twelve days in incubators. Back then, I told myself Beckett Ward was dead. But now, these floating comments were telling me he never sent that text.

The live comments continued to scroll:

[And Beckett doesn't even know she gave birth to his twins!!!]

[Once they go public tonight, Serena is basically the future Queen of Hollywood. The ex and the kids will be pushed even deeper into the shadows.]

[Ugh. The biological dad is on the red carpet, and his kids are fighting over spilled milk at home.]

I looked down. Todd was chewing on his straw, staring intently at Beckett on the screen. He looked exactly like Beckett did in his old childhood photos. A spitting image.

Maisy held her plastic cup, asking softly, "Mommy, who is our daddy?"

I stood up.

Todd stood up too, his eyes wide. "Mommy, are we not having milk?"

"No," I said. "We're going."

I grabbed my purse, cramming our birth certificates, my old cracked phone, and the family records inside. Maisy was still wearing her bunny pajamas, one sock missing. I scavenged under the sofa, found the missing sock, and pulled it over her foot. Todd clutched his Spider-Man backpack, his little face solemn. "Mommy, where are we going?"

On the screen, Beckett and Serena stood side-by-side against the step-and-repeat. Serena wore a pristine white dress, her hand resting gracefully on his arm. The interviewer smiled warmly. "Are you two sharing some special news with us tonight?"

Before Beckett could answer, the chat comments went wild:

[Countdown to the big reveal!]

[If the ex doesn't go now, she'll never get another chance.]

I shut the door behind us.

"We're going to find your dad. The one who owes us."

The drive from our apartment to the convention center usually took forty minutes. That night, the traffic kept us crawling for an hour and a half. The Uber driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror three times. On the fourth, he couldn't help himself. "Heading to the gala, huh? Big fan?"

Maisy was yawning against my chest. Todd sat beside me, one hand holding his backpack, the other gripping the envelope with the birth certificates. I stared out at the endless sea of red taillights. "Just collecting a debt."

The driver blinked. "At an awards show?"

"Yes."

"A celebrity owes you money?"

I looked down at the live stream on my phone. Beckett had already entered the indoor press room. Serena was beside him, her smile poised and flawless. The host was building up the suspense. I flipped my phone face down. "He owes us a lot."

The driver didn't ask any more questions.

When we arrived, the outside was a madhouse. Flashy signs, banners, cameras, and screaming fans blocked the entrance like Times Square on New Year's Eve. Carrying Maisy and holding Todd's hand, I headed toward the side entrance.

A security guard stopped us. I said, "I'm here to see Beckett Ward."

His look hardened instantly. "Do you have a badge?"

"No."

"An invitation?"

"No."

"Then you can't go in."

I swallowed my anger. "Just tell him Gill Harris is here. Hell know."

The guard let out a dry laugh. "Look, lady, at least eighty women have come here tonight claiming to know Beckett. Some girl earlier even claimed to be his high school sweetheart."

A few fansite girls nearby heard him and began turning their long lenses toward us. I pulled Maisy closer. Todd stepped in front of me. "My mommy doesn't lie."

The guard looked down at Todd and froze. He looked at Todd's face, then glanced up at the giant digital billboard broadcasting Beckett's live red-carpet close-up. The sharp jawline. The nose. The slight, guarded press of his lips. The guards throat moved.

A fansite girl lowered her camera, her voice dropping. "That kid..."

Another girl finished her sentence: "...looks exactly like Beckett."

Hearing them, Maisy lifted her head from my shoulder and looked up at the billboard. She blinked. "Todd, look. That giant man stole your face."

Todd frowned. "Don't talk nonsense."

A lens clicked as a camera pointed at Todd. I immediately blocked it with my hand. "Don't film the children."

The fansite girl lowered her camera, looking slightly embarrassed. The guard, no longer daring to push us away, grabbed his walkie-talkie. "We have a situation at the side entrance. A woman is here looking for Mr. Ward. She has two kids with her."

A voice crackled back almost instantly: "Keep them there. Do not let the media get pictures."

The live comments began to flash rapidly across my eyes:

[Here we go. It's happening.]

[PR's first instinct is always to shut down the ex.]

[Those poor kids. Their real dad is right inside, and they're locked outside in the cold.]

I looked at the guard. "You said eighty women have come looking for him tonight." I pulled out my old, cracked phone. The screen lit up with the three-year-old message. "Do they have this?"

The guard couldn't make sense of it. Back then, I had saved Beckett's number as "Beckett the Debtor" because he owed me three months of rent. But the guard looked at Todds face again, and his expression completely changed.

A few minutes later, a man in a sharp black suit walked briskly toward us. His badge read: "Aura Media, Public Relations." He offered a polished, empty smile. "Miss Harris, is it? It's a bit crowded here. Why don't we step inside to talk?"

"Where is Beckett?" I asked.

His smile didn't waver. "Mr. Ward is currently working. If you have any demands, you can discuss them with me first."

"Demands." The moment he said that word, I knew exactly how they had classified me. A stalker. A bitter ex. A blackmailer using kids to cash in.

Before I could speak, Todd asked, "Mommy, what are demands?"

"It means they think we're here for money," I said.

Maisy immediately looked up. "Is he going to give it to us?"

The PR guy's face stiffened. Someone nearby choked back a laugh. I looked down at Maisy. "Not yet."

She said seriously, "Then we can't leave."

The PR guy led us into a backstage storage room. It was cluttered with cases of bottled water, folding chairs, and designer gift bags. The moment we walked in, Maisy eyed a plate of miniature cupcakes on the table. Before I could say anything, the PR guy casually slid the plate out of her reach. "Apologies. Those are reserved for the talent."

Maisys mouth puckered. Todd glared at him. "My sister didn't even ask for them."

The man ignored him with a dismissive smile. I sat down and pulled Maisy onto my lap. "When is Beckett coming?"

"Mr. Ward has a very tight schedule tonight."

"Then I'll go back outside and find the reporters."

The smile finally vanished from his face.

Just then, the door swung open. First to walk in was SimonBecketts manager. Three years ago, he used to call me "sister-in-law." Back then, he wore a cheap puffer jacket and sat on our worn-out couch eating cold takeout pizza, telling me Beckett was going to make it big, and that hed get me front-row tickets to his first major awards show. Now, he was in a bespoke suit with a gleaming tie clip. He didn't look surprised to see me at all. "Gill."

I stared at him. "Simon."

He smiled. "Its been a long time."

Before I could reply, I heard footsteps outside. Light, but distinct. I knew that stride. Beckett walked in.

After three years, he was leaner than he appeared on screen. He was wearing a designer watch from tonights sponsor and a silver brooch on his lapelpart of the matching couples jewelry line he and Serena were promoting tonight.

I had rehearsed a thousand things to say to him. I wanted to ask why he sent that text. I wanted to ask if hed ever thought of me over these three years. I wanted to ask if he knew I had almost died on the operating table. But seeing him standing there, the words dissolved in my throat.

Maisy spoke first. She pointed a tiny finger at him. "Todd, look. It's the face-stealer."

Todd's ears turned red. "Stop it."

Becketts gaze locked onto Todd's face. He stood frozen for what felt like an eternity. Then his eyes drifted to Maisy. All the color drained from his face.

Simon quickly stepped in. "Beckett, the press room is waiting."

Beckett didn't move. He looked at me, and my heart gave a betraying flutter. But then he spoke, his voice tight: "Who authorized you to bring the children here?"

I froze. I looked at him. Three years. I had survived those three years alone, only to be blocked by security and hidden in a storage closet. And the first thing out of his mouth wasn't "how have you been" or "how did you find me." It was "who authorized you to bring them here."

I let out a sudden, dry laugh. "Mr. Ward, don't be in such a rush to interrogate me." I set Maisy down and gently pulled Todd to my side. "First, why don't you explain why these two kids have your exact face?"

Becketts throat bobbed. He stared at the children. It wasn't a look of disgust or disbelief. It was the look of a man who had suddenly been served a verdict he couldn't comprehend.

Simon cut in. "Gill, you can't prove custody or paternity just by looks. Do you have any idea what kind of damage this stunt could do to his career?"

I looked at him. "I do."

"And you still came?"

"Why wouldn't I?" I countered. "Should I have waited for him to announce his relationship tonight, and then leave a comment on his post saying, "By the way, Beckett, you have twins"?"

Simons face darkened.

The door opened again. Serena stood there. Her makeup was immaculate, her white gown spotless, and Becketts matching designer jacket hung draped over her shoulders. When she saw me, her eyes widened in brief surprise before she smoothed her expression. "Beckett, the host is calling for you."

Her voice was soft, but her eyes immediately swept over the children, lingering on Todd. She paused, then walked in with a gentle smile. "You must be Gill."

I didn't answer. Serena didn't let the silence grow awkward. She knelt down in front of Maisy, her tone dripping sweetness. "Hi there, sweetie. It's very crowded back here. You shouldn't be running around."

Maisy shrank behind my leg. "Mommy, her smile is too bright."

Todd added flatly, "Like my desk lamp on the highest setting."

Serenas smile stiffened for a fraction of a second. The live comments went wild:

[Hahaha "desk lamp on the highest setting"! Go off, little man!]

[The kid speaks facts. Serenas face just turned green.]

Beckett glanced at Maisy. It was a brief look, but I saw the flicker of emotion in his eyes. Serena saw it too. She stood up, smoothing her skirt, and murmured, "Beckett, regardless of what's going on, the live broadcast isn't over. We can figure out the situation with the children later. We cant delay the announcement."

"We can't delay the announcement." I almost laughed out loud. "Miss Gable," I said, "you're certainly in a hurry."

Serena's eyes instantly welled with tears. "Gill, you misunderstand. Im only worried that making a scene here will hurt the children."

It was a beautifully played sentiment. But a second later, I noticed a staff member outside the door, pointing a phone camera directly at us. I saw it, but it was already too late.

Ten minutes later, I was trending.

"Beckett Ward: Mysterious Woman with Children Backstage"

"Unforeseen Drama Before Beckett Ward's Big Announcement"

The leaked video was only twenty seconds long. The first half showed me holding the children in the cluttered storage room, my face cold. In the middle, Serena, with red-rimmed eyes, was saying, "Gill, we can figure out the situation with the children later. Don't let this affect Beckett's announcement tonight." The clip ended with Maisy hiding behind me.

The caption read: "Alleged ex-girlfriend gatecrashes awards show with kids to force a confrontation, while Serena Gable handles the crisis with grace."

The comment sections erupted.

[Is she crazy? Dragging kids to an awards show to cause a scene?]

[Serena is class personified. Shes still trying to protect the kids.]

[We don't even know whose kids those are. She's really trying to trap him?]

I sat in the storage room, scrolling through the comments. I looked up at Simon. "Your agency moves fast with the media buys."

Simon denied it immediately. "Gill, public opinion is already turning against you. If youre smart, you'll stop making a scene."

"I'm not making a scene."

"Bringing two kids backstage at a major awards show isn't making a scene?"

Todd stood beside me, his jaw clenched tight. Maisy was getting sleepy, her head resting heavily on my lap. I stroked her hair. "Then tell me, Simon. What do you call it?"

Simon said coldly, "Unbecoming."

I looked up at him. "I didn't care much about being becoming when I had an emergency C-section all by myself."

The room went completely quiet.

Beckett, who had been standing by the window in silence, turned to look at me. I didn't meet his eyes. I reached into my bag and pulled out my old phone. It was three years old, the screen webbed with cracks, the charging port barely functioning. But I had kept it because of that single text. It was the proof of my abandonment, and the reason I had never reached out to him again.

Simons expression shifted when he saw the phone. "Gill," he said, his voice softening, "let's be reasonable. Tell us what you want."

I placed the phone on the table. "I want Beckett to tell me, to my face, if he sent this text."

Beckett walked over. "What text?"

Simon cut in quickly. "Beckett, the press is waiting. Don't let her play you."

I tapped the cracked screen. The message log opened.

"Sender: Beckett the Debtor"

"Content: Don't come looking for me."

Beckett stared at the screen. The change in his face was visceral. I watched him. "Did you send it?"

Beckett couldn't find his voice. Simon spoke up instead. "It was three years ago, who remembers? Phones get hacked, people lose them. Bringing this up now doesn't prove anything, Gill."

I smiled. "Why are you so nervous, Simon?"

Simon's smile faltered.

Beckett looked up, his gaze fixing on his manager.

Just then, a production assistant knocked on the door. "Mr. Ward, the interview is starting. The host is already teasing the announcement on air."

Serena stood at the threshold, her voice a soft plea. "Beckett, everyone is waiting for you."

Beckett didn't budge. I pushed the phone closer to him. "Beckett, when this text was sent, where were you?"

His eyes darkened, sinking into shadow. Simon stepped in front of the phone, lowering his voice to a hiss: "Gill, name your price." All pretense of politeness was gone. "We made you disappear once three years ago. We can do it again tonight."