Page 57 of Open Secrets
But I’m already there. Arms crossed. Blocking his way.
My whole life, he’s loomed larger than me—his shadow, his standards, his voice commanding everything. But not anymore. I’m done being a little boy in his presence.
He huffs, glancing from me to my mother, his pride caught in his throat. He doesn’t want to embarrass himself, but he also doesn’t want to be cornered.
Finally, he spits it out. “She came to me for money. What else? She actually thought a few tears and theatrics would make me fall for her whorish—”
And just like that, I deck my sixty-seven-year-old father.
The crack of fist on bone rings louder than the fire alarm at home, sharper than gunfire in the field. He stumbles back, clutching his face, before going down.
I don’t regret it for a second.
“Dad.” I nudge his shoulder. “Come on, get up. Stop acting.”
He doesn’t move.
My chest tightens until he groans, voice gravelly. “I’m fine.”
Relief rushes out of me before I can stop it. He starts to push himself up, and guilt has me grabbing his arm to steady him. He settles onto the sofa but immediately swats my hands away. “Get off me.”
I shake my head. “Can’t even take a punch anymore.”
The stare he gives me is ice cold. “Don’t tempt me.”
Everything stills after that—like the room itself is waiting.
Finally, my mom speaks, her voice brittle. “Why did Maria go to your father?” Her eyes flick to him, then back to me. “The truth,” she adds, sharp, when my dad opens his mouth.
I let out a long breath. “Rain had a leukaemia that wasn’t common in children. The chemo wasn’t working. The only option left was gene therapy—experimental, not covered under Tricare. Maria asked if Dad could pull strings, expedite the hearing. Normally it takes years, but in the end it would’ve gone in our favour.”
My dad shifts, quiet now. “She didn’t say the last part.”
“You sure?” I press.
He just looks down.
“She ended up paying for the whole thing out of pocket,” I say, my voice cracking with equal parts pride and shame. “Maxed credit, worked extra jobs, held everything together while we left her.”
My mom whispers, “I had no idea.”
“That’s because you weren’t there,” I answer flatly.
Her lips purse. “I asked Anna to find out if she needed help, and Maria turned her away. If I’d known things were that bad, of course I would have—”
“Forgiven her?” I cut in. “For something we both did?”
Her head tilts, sharp. Unlike all the previous times I brought this up, she doesn’t walk away instead she doubles down “Don’t defend her.”
“I’m not.” My voice drops low. “I knew, Mom. She told me the day she found out. And I… I didn’t want to be a dad. Not then.”
She shakes her head, disgusted. “There are options.”
“Ask yourself the truth,” I shoot back. “Would you have allowed adoption?”
She looks away, face tight.
“That’s still no excuse,” she mutters.
