Maybe he was downstairs.
Maybe guilt had finally reached him.
I opened the message.
Mom loved the vintage watch. Staying at the hotel tonight because everyone’s been drinking. I’ll come by tomorrow afternoon. Please don’t start a fight before I meet my son.
I read it twice.
Then took a screenshot.
Dad watched my face.
“Do you want me to say something?”
“No.”
“Do you want me to call him?”
“No.”
“Do you want me to buy the hotel and evict everyone?”
That earned a tired laugh.
“No.”
He leaned back.
“Worth asking.”
I looked at Leo sleeping against my chest.
Then said:
“I need my laptop.”
My father frowned.
“You gave birth twenty minutes ago.”
“I know.”
“What possible emergency requires a spreadsheet?”
“My marriage.”
That wiped the humor from his face.
