“Not just my daughter, Tate. Our daughter.”

“Our daughter?” He blinked, uncomprehending. “What are you talking about?”

“When I left here nearly ten years ago, I was carrying your baby.”

“A daughter?” Tate felt as if he’d been sucker-punched. “I have a little girl?” He dropped back into the chair and sat there, too shocked to speak.

Taking a deep breath, he thrust a hand over the tips of his hair, sliding the fingers to the back of his head where he held on, trying to keep from losing his mind.

He had a little girl.

A dozen questions crowded his mind.

Why? Why hadn’t Julee told him?

And why was she telling him now?