Page 73 of What Makes an Alien a Dad?

He squeezed my shoulder slightly. “That’s not what I meant.”

“What else could you mean? What else really matters to you?” I drew in a breath and finally looked up at him. “It’s over now. The results of your precious study no longer hinge on my wellbeing. You no longer need to pretend you care. No need to lie or go through the trouble of forging someone else’s letters.”

He signed so heavily, his chest vibrated with a growl.

“Maya—”

“It’s Madam Maya Gupta to you, Professor Thormus. It’s what it always should have been.”

“Maya... Please.” He pressed both hands into the mattress, leaning over me. “It has never been just about the study—”

“Never?” I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Well...” He rubbed his forehead. “At the very beginning, yes. Maybe.”

“At the beginning, in the middle, and at the end. It has always been the biggest thing you cared about. The only thing.”

“No.” He shook his head.

I lifted a hand, stopping his argument. “That’s fine. Really. You are what you are. Work is and always has been the most important part of your life. It’s a good, noble kind of work. I actually admire you for what you do. What I hate is that you would throw everything under the wheels of your ambition.”

“That’s not true!” He pushed back from the bed.

The nurses finished cleaning me and joined the rest of the men who congregated by the opposite wall. They looked unsure whether to leave the room and give us privacy or stick around in case a fight broke out and they had to tear us apart to stop us from clawing each other’s eyes out.

“Not true? Really?” I huffed a humorless laugh. “But what is your exact definition of truth, Professor? To my knowledge, you have no clue what truth is.”

“Maya, please listen to me. I care about you more than anything in the world. Nothing is more important to me... The work... I— Ughh,” he groaned, fisting his hands in frustration. “I’m not good with words.”

“That is not true. I’ve read some wonderful words written by you that were simply magical. They helped me through some very hard times. Or were all those words stolen from someone else, just like the signature you stole from Walter?”

“I didn’t steal anything.” His cheeks darkened in a blush. His eyes glistened in agitation. “I tried, but the words of others didn’t work.”

“Can’t say I’m sorry about that, or that I’m sorry for you.” I felt winded and weak. Every sound released from my mouth robbed me of energy. “You’ve done what you had to do here, Professor. Now, please leave.”

He stomped his hoof in determination. His tail lashed out, hitting the screen stands with so much force they shook.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m tired, Professor. Leave me alone,” I said firmly, sinking into the puffy cushions of my bed. “Go to your daughter. She needs you. The poor thing had the misfortune of getting you for a parent. She has no one else.”

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