~6 years later~

It was autumn, the breeze was perfect, the leaves look beautiful, and it was the ideal time to take a walk in the park. It was also Andrew's day off from the stressful office, so he took this as an opportunity to take a stroll at Central Park. He couldn't help but remember the days when he and Margaret used to walk in the same pathways together, hands intertwined, whispering about the most random things. It's been six years since Margaret have left because of one stupid mistake. Margaret saw him with another woman on his bed one morning. He was drunk at that time; he was still woozy to what happened the night before. And after that, he saw her no more.

His thoughts were interrupted when suddenly, a little girl with chestnut-colored hair and soft brown eyes came up to him and said, "Hello! You look just like my daddy!"

He was taken aback and didn't know how to respond. But then, maybe she was just mistaking him for her dad. He smiled at her and asked, "Really? How is that?"

"You look like my dad, really! My mommy showed me a picture of you, you know?" Her eyes were lighting up every second she speaks.

"Of me? Who's your mommy? And where is she?"

"Oh, she's over there," she said as she pointed at one of the benches, "she's the one wearing the brown jacket."

"What's her name?" He said, intrigued.

"Margaret."

"Margaret?"

"Yep! Do you think that you're my daddy too?"

"It depends, but if you tell me your name, I'll give you an answer." His mind was racing; he again didn't know how to respond. How is this little girl doing this to him? He thought to himself.

"Andrea Louise. Well, my mommy said that I'm supposed to have another last name, but then…"

"Andrea! Andrea, where are you?" That familiar voice was calling out to her daughter. It was that voice that he recognizes that belongs to Margaret Tate.

"Bye!" The little girl said to Andrew as she called out to her mom. "Mommy, I'm here!"

As the familiar figure turned around, Andrew's eyes widen with shock. It really was Margaret Tate, taking her little girl's hand.

"Who were you talking to, Andrea?" Margaret asked.

"I was talking to my daddy, mommy!" She said excitedly, "He's here! He's here!"

"Who's here?"

"My daddy's here!"

"Andrea, didn't we already talk about this?"

"I know, mommy. But look! He's right there!" She was pointing at Andrew, who was just confused yet enlightened with the situation.

"Andrew!" Margaret said, almost screaming, really.

"Margaret…"

"See? I told you mommy! It IS him!"

"Shh, Andrea! Let's go!" With that, she took Andrea by the hand and started walking rapidly, leaving Andrew behind once again.

"Is this really happening? Did I really have a daughter with Margaret? What the heck is going on? And why are you still standing here when your ex-fiancé and possible daughter is getting away?" And those were the exact thoughts that were going through his mind before he finally ran towards Margaret and Andrea.

"Margaret, wait!" He called out, "Please stop! Margaret!"

"Oh no, the day that I never thought would actually happen is currently occurring. Why this day? Ugh, I knew that coming to Central Park is such a bad idea." She thought. She stopped walking and turned around to meet a panting Andrew.

"Hey."

"Hey…"

"So, how have you been, Margaret?"

"Well, we're just on a vacation here. We're coming back in a week."

"Isn't that too soon?"

"Not really, we've been here since last month."

"And you didn't come to my apartment?"

"Why would we do that?"

"'Cause… Uh…" He was coming to a blank, he didn't know if he should ask her straightforwardly, or should he just let it come out because of obvious reasons?

Margaret raised her eyebrows and said, "Well, if you're done talking Andrew, we need to go. It was nice to see you again."

Just as Margaret was ready to walk off, Andrea pulled her hand.

"Mommy, is he really my daddy?" She said, her eyes full of hope and wanting.

"Honey, we really should go, okay? Andrew it's really nice meeting you again but we need to go someplace else. I'm sorry. Bye." She held Andrea's hand and started walking away briskly, leaving Andrew open-mouthed and a dozen questions perfectly evident on his face. Everything is happening too fast. Did he just saw Margaret with a child – with the great possibility that that child is also his? Wasn't he just walking in Central Park - consumed with memories of him and Margaret walking the same path together years ago – and now a pretty child comes up to him to say that he looked just like her father and that child turns out to be Margaret's daughter?

He looked up and saw that adorable child looking back at him with those eyes filled with longing and questions, and he saw Margaret. She's walking away again, away from him. The last time she did this he didn't get to see her again after six years. Who knows how long would it take for him to see her again if he let her go this time? He couldn't risk it. He couldn't bear the same pain and longing anymore. And so he ran after her and his daughter. His daughter. He was now quite sure of it. He doesn't care if he had to beg for Margaret to tell him the truth; he would kneel for hours in Central Park if it means getting her back together with their daughter.

It didn't take long for him to catch up with them. And when he did, he grabbed Margaret's free arm gently and blurted out, "Margaret, is she my daughter?"

She was looking at him with an unfathomable expression in her eyes, like she's trying to think about the pros and cons of what her decision might be. And he felt like he would lose his mind, because God forbid, he hoped that Margaret wouldn't deny anything. He could clearly see the evidence. Andrea is his child, their child. And he wanted Margaret to confirm that, to tell him straight to his face that they have a child and she chose to hide the truth from him. He felt cheated but even though his brain tells him that he should get mad, he couldn't. It has been six long years without Margaret; six long years of trying to find her; six long years of trying to move on by going on dates but all to no avail, because whenever he goes home all alone in his apartment all he could see is Margaret. He would try to get something to eat at his kitchen and he could see Margaret's favorite coffee mug to use. He would lie down in bed and he could see her lying down beside him and snuggling to his chest. He would watch a comedy sitcom and he would find himself thinking if she would be laughing at the jokes, and then he would be wondering where she is, or if she's watching the same show. And he would find himself remembering of what was left in his memory of them being together – happy and in love. And all those dates with the pretty girls would all turn out to be meaningless, and often he would find himself in the exact same spot of where he was when Margaret left – broken, regretful, and hopelessly, madly in love. He's nowhere near healed. He would never, ever be healed because the only person who can heal him is nowhere to be found. But now she's here, in front of him. And it was like the last six years never existed. Not a single speck of his feelings has changed.

"I want you to tell me the truth, Margaret. I am begging you to tell me the truth. Please." Neither of them realized that he's still holding her arm; she's shaking, he could feel it. A voice broke through the silence, they both turned in time to see Andrea tugging Margaret's shirt and asking in a small voice, "Is he my daddy, mommy?"