His lips parted. Nothing came out.
“You knew Liam wanted you there,” I said. “He asked if we could save a seat for you. He looked up at the screen and said, ‘Mom, that’s Dad!’—with pride, Zach. Pride.”
He winced at the coldness in my voice. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”
“But it did.” I stood now, slower than I wanted to, because grief weighs more than rage. “And what do I tell our son, huh? That his father skipped his favorite night to kiss his secretary under stadium lights?”
“You’re exaggerating. It wasn’t a kiss,” he roared, clenching his fist.
“You kissed her shoulder.” My voice cracked. “You smiled, Zach. You were proud of what you did.”
“I made a mistake, yes. But I am unfairly judged there.”
“No, Zach,” I whispered. “Your choices are made the moment you flirt with that woman.”
He stepped closer. “Ari—please. You know how hard this industry is. The pressure. The image. The partnerships. Sometimes it gets blurry—”
“I bore your son while you were building your empire,” I snapped. “There’s nothing blurry about betrayal.”