I met my father, Frank, at a small diner near the Charles River.
He smiled when he saw me.
“Your mother said the baby is beautiful,” he said. “I can’t wait to hold my grandson.”
The word grandson felt like acid.
I placed my phone on the table.
“I need you to listen,” I said gently.
I pressed play.
Kevin’s laughter.
Diane’s approval.
Sierra’s smug promise.
My father’s face drained of color.
When the recording ended, he stared at the coffee in front of him.
“I didn’t know,” he whispered.
“They fooled you too,” I said softly.
His hands trembled slightly.
“What do you need from me?”
“Silence for now,” I said. “And honesty when the time comes.”
He nodded immediately.
“You have it.”
For the first time that day, I felt something close to relief.
The confrontation came on a quiet Thursday evening.
Kevin returned from another supposed business trip.
Dinner was set.