“Dad, let me do one thing for you.”
“You can do something for me.”
“What?”
“Go home and decide what kind of man you want to be when this is over.”
He looked at me, startled.
“I’m not asking you to choose between Chelsea and me,” I continued.
“I’m asking you to stop choosing silence.”
His eyes turned glassy, but he blinked the emotion away.
“I don’t want to lose you.”
“You already lost the version of me who stayed quiet to keep peace.”
He nodded slowly.
“I understand.”
“I hope you do.”
That evening, Logan returned to the house alone.
Chelsea was in the kitchen, surrounded by unopened mail.
The three envelopes sat on the island.
She had arranged them in a row, as if order might make their contents less frightening.
“What did he say?” she asked.
Logan removed his jacket.
“He said the agreements were legal.”
