He looked at me then—really looked—and something shifted behind his eyes. Not remorse. Not quite. Something closer to inconvenience meeting resistance.
“You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”
I almost smiled.
“Hard,” I said, “is finding out your husband of thirty-four years thinks your life is an administrative detail.”
Silence again.
Then Daniel stood. “Dad… maybe we should go.”
Charles hesitated.
For a second—just a second—I thought he might say something real.
He didn’t.
He picked up his jacket.
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