“I was wrong,” he said quickly, as if rushing made it easier. “I didn’t track the money you sent. I thought you were just helping. I didn’t know it was everything.”
That might have been true, but truth in pieces is still an excuse.
“You thought I was temporary,” I said.
He didn’t answer.
That was answer enough.
Finally he said, quieter now, “Is there any way we can stay?”
I looked at him for a long time.
“No.”
“Ethan—”
“You had years,” I said. “You didn’t ask then.”
Silence.
Then, almost under his breath, “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“I know,” I said.
And I did.
Men like Daniel rarely set out to destroy people. They just never stop when destruction becomes convenient.
I ended the call.
Later Madison sent a long message—half apology, half accusation, half nostalgia used as a weapon. I didn’t respond.
Instead, I opened a folder on my laptop.
Property plans.
Renovation quotes.
Long-term repairs.
Because the house was not just a house anymore.
It was structure. Stability. A place Noah could grow up in without bracing for impact every day.
Weeks passed.