Chapter 7 - SEVEN YEARS
Dad read the screenshot only because I handed him the phone.
His jaw tightened.
“That’s bad.”
“Thank you, detective.”
He handed it back.
“I’m trying very hard.”
“To do what?”
“Not become the man you stopped speaking to.”
That silenced me.
Seven years earlier, my father had hated Brandon.
Not quietly.
Not politely.
He thought Brandon was charming when people were watching and selfish when they weren’t.
Dad said that out loud at our engagement dinner.
In front of twelve people.
Brandon had made a joke about how marriage meant I finally had someone to “keep me organized.”
Dad didn’t laugh.
He said, “She doesn’t need managing.”
Brandon told him to relax.
Dad told him to watch his mouth.
It escalated.
Fast.
By dessert, Dad had called Brandon arrogant.
Brandon had called Dad controlling.
And Dad ended the argument with a sentence that burned our relationship to the ground.
“If you marry a man who treats you like an inconvenience before the wedding, don’t act shocked when he treats you worse after it.”
I stood up.
Told my father he had humiliated me.
He told me I was making a mistake.
I said if he couldn’t support me, he didn’t need to come to the wedding.
He didn’t.
For years, I used that as proof that I had been right.
He chose pride over me.
Except now he was sitting in my kitchen at six in the morning, sterilizing bottle nipples.
“Why didn’t you come?” I asked.
Dad stopped.
“To the wedding.”
He lowered his eyes.
“You told me not to.”
“You were my father.”
“I know.”
“You should’ve come anyway.”
“I know.”
I wasn’t prepared for that answer.
“I waited.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
“You knew?”
“I drove there.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“I sat across the street from the church for forty minutes.”
I stared at him.
“I thought about walking in.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I had spent your entire engagement telling you I knew better than you.”
His voice cracked slightly.
“And I realized if I walked through those doors after you told me not to, I’d be proving your point.”
I looked away.
“So you left.”
“Yes.”
“You hurt me.”
“I know.”
“I hated you.”
“I know.”
He swallowed.
“I hated myself a little too.”
June made a soft noise from the bassinet.
Neither of us moved.
Then Dad said, “I was worried about Brandon. I was also angry. And instead of separating those things, I turned your marriage into a fight I needed to win.”
I looked back at him.
“I’m sorry.”
Seven years.
I had imagined that apology hundreds of times.
In every version, it felt victorious.
In reality, it just hurt.
“Why did you keep sending cards?”
“Because you were still my daughter.”
“Even when I sent them back?”
“Especially then.”
I wiped my face.
Dad glanced toward the babies.
“Whatever you decide about Brandon, don’t decide it because I disliked him.”
“I know.”
“Don’t stay to prove me wrong either.”
That landed harder.
Because maybe some part of me had been doing exactly that.
My phone started ringing.
Brandon.
Dad stood.
“I’ll take the girls upstairs.”
“No.”
I answered.
“Hi.”
Brandon sounded irritated.
“What did you say to Mason?”
“Nothing.”
“He’s acting like I abandoned my family.”
I looked at the empty doorway where my father stood.
“You did.”
“Audrey, seriously?”
“Yes, Brandon. Seriously.”
“You’re turning everybody against me.”
“I haven’t spoken to Mason.”
Silence.
Then:
“Who have you been talking to?”
I almost smiled.
He wasn’t worried about me.
He was worried about who knew.
May you like
Before I could answer, Brandon said something that made the room go cold.
“Whatever Kelly told you, she doesn’t know the whole story.”
