Ben had never considered what would happen after. When he'd learned about Elliott he'd been focused on the immediate present, the toddler who existed and was right here and that he'd have an opportunity to get to know, and on the past, the baby whom he never would. When he thought of the future it was only with a vague feeling of insecurity. Someday Elliott would be five, or six, and he'd have questions that no one could answer about Ben and they'd have to call this whole thing off. And rightly so, too, because Elliott had a father, and Ben didn't have any rights to him. He wouldn't have wanted to interrupt his son's life to force himself into it, when the alternative was that he could be happy and healthy and loved. He was clearly well provided for, and these pictures in the hallway indicated he always would be, both physically and emotionally. Ben had no business in the middle of that, making trouble through his very existence. But he had never conceptualized of an after, of Elliott existing as an adult rather than as a child. He couldn't picture Elliott as an adult — when he tried, briefly, all he came up with was himself as a teenager or a young man, and then himself, at that time of life, dealing with the death of both of his parents.

"I —" Ben started, but he had no idea what to say. He didn't want to duel Macmillan. He wanted to call it off, but he couldn't do so now — they'd picked a date, they'd named seconds. It was out of their hands. Maybe Macmillan's second would talk him into backing down and conceding, staying away from Ben's sister, or maybe Art would come up with something, but — if not — Friday morning.

"I'll be alright," he assured her for what felt like the hundredth time that night, though he had no notion that she would believe him any better now than she had on the earlier occasions. "I'm going to be fine."

He chewed his lower lip, wondering if this was the end of the conversation. Should he say goodbye? He didn't want to seem like he was running away, but there was a note of finality in what she'd said, in be safe, Ben.

"I don't know your name," he admitted sheepishly. Since she'd called him Ben.