That was where he said his phone reception was bad.
That was where he brought me once for our anniversary and ordered champagne he barely drank because he was too busy checking his messages.
My father listened.
Then said, “Use legal. Use private security. Do not leak anything. Not yet.”
Not yet.
The words chilled me.
He ended the call.
“Dad… how did you know the hotel?”
He looked at Garrett through the glass window beside the door.
“Because I know men like him.”
I followed his gaze.
Garrett stood in the hallway with both hands in his hair, pacing, whispering into his phone. He looked frantic now, all the practiced grief stripped away.
“He’s calling her,” I said.
My father’s jaw flexed.
“Then we should hear what he has to say.”
He opened the door before I could stop him.
Garrett spun around.
“I told you to leave,” my father said.
Garrett shoved the phone into his pocket. “I’m not leaving my family.”
My father laughed once.
It was worse than anger.
“Your family is in that room. You abandoned him.”
Garrett’s face twisted. “You don’t get to decide what kind of father I was.”
“No,” my father said. “Ethan did. When he asked for you.”
Garrett recoiled as if struck.
For a moment, I thought he might finally break. Truly break. I wanted him to fall apart. I wanted him to sob until he couldn’t stand. I wanted proof that Ethan had mattered more than his affair, more than his image, more than the woman who sent heart emojis while my son’s body grew cold.
But Garrett only looked at me and said, “We need to talk without him.”
My father’s eyes sharpened.
