Daniel’s hands curled into fists. “I’ll call the police.”
I nodded. “Go ahead.”
We both knew how that would end.
Not because I was above the law.
Because I wasn’t the one breaking it.
The guests disappeared within minutes. People love collapse until they realize it’s real.
Madison cried in short, angry bursts. Daniel paced the room muttering about lawyers, banks, mistakes.
Mistakes.
That word again.
Noah stayed beside me through all of it.
Like he had already chosen.
Maybe he had.
Eventually Daniel stopped pacing and looked at me, really looked at me, like he was seeing not his son but the consequence of every decision he had made.
“You’re going to regret this,” he said.
I shook my head.
“No. I already did the regretting.”
Then I turned toward the hallway.
“Noah. Pack a bag.”
Half an hour later the house felt different. Not empty. Cleansed.
Daniel and Madison stood on the porch with trash bags full of hurried belongings. The giant television sat on the lawn like an expensive monument to stupidity. Neighbors watched through their curtains, but nobody stepped in.
Nobody ever steps in when ownership becomes real.
Daniel looked at me one last time. “You really chose this.”
“No,” I said. “You did.”