“You can’t just—” she began, her expression shifted, disbelief bleeding into anger.
“I can,” I said. “And I am.”
I handed her back the document, unsigned.
“You left me once without thinking about the consequences. This time, I’m the one closing the door.”
She tried to recover, throwing words at me. Something about rights, family, and second chances, but I wasn’t listening.
A young man standing by a door | Source: Midjourney
The kitchen smelled like garlic and thyme, the kind of comfort that sneaks into your chest before you realize how badly you need it. My dad had disappeared into the backyard after Jessica left.
I knew he needed a moment to himself, especially after the bombshell she’d dropped.
Now, I stood at the stove stirring our favorite comfort food: lamb stew.
“You didn’t have to cook, Dyl,” he said from the doorway.
Garlic and thyme on a wooden board | Source: Midjourney
“I needed to do something with my hands, Dad,” I replied. “And I figured you could use something warm.”
He gave a short nod.
“She waited 22 years to drop that one on you,” he said, walking over to stir the pot.
“And you, Dad,” I added quietly. “She dropped it on both of us.”
He didn’t look at me, but I saw his grip tighten on the spoon.
A pot of lamb stew on a stove | Source: Midjourney
“It doesn’t change anything,” I said, washing my hands. “You’re still my dad. Blood or not.”
“Yeah,” he said, sighing deeply. The word sounded fragile.
I crossed the kitchen and leaned on the counter beside him.
“Dad, I mean it,” I said. “Blood doesn’t change who held me at three in the morning, who taught me to ride a bike… and who sat in the ER when I cracked my chin open on the sidewalk.”
He stirred the stew again, eyes misting.
An upset man standing in a kitchen | Source: Midjourney
“It just feels like losing something, son,” he said. “Even though I know I’m not. But… Dyl, if you want to get to know her… I won’t stop you.”
“I couldn’t care less about that woman,” I said, reaching over and putting a hand on his shoulder. “I didn’t lose anything. If anything… I just realized how much more you gave me.”
“We’re okay? Dyl, really?” he blinked hard, then nodded.
A young man standing in a kitchen wearing a navy sweatshirt | Source: Midjourney
“We’ve always been okay,” I smiled. “We’re iron-tight, Dad. It’s always going to be you and me.”
We sat together at the kitchen table, eating in silence.
It turned out that Jessica wasn’t done.
The next day, she showed up at my office with a lawyer. They didn’t even make an appointment; they just walked right through reception like they owned the place. My team texted me from the front desk before I even looked up from my laptop.
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