She stands abruptly.“So his solution was to get a vasectomy.And then to disappear?”
“Yes.”
“That’s not protection,” she snaps.“That’s abandonment.Just like my mother said.”
Callum doesn’t argue.The word fits too cleanly.
“He doesn’t get to decide that for everyone else,” Isla continues, pacing now, the invoice shaking in her hand.“He doesn’t get to decide what kind of pain is acceptable.”
Callum’s chest tightens.She isn’t wrong, and knowing that feels like betrayal anyway.
“I’m not defending it,” he says quietly.
She stops pacing and turns to him.“Then why are you still trying to make it make sense?”
The answer costs him more than he expects.“Because if it doesn’t… then everything I thought I knew about him collapses.”
Silence stretches.
Isla’s expression softens just slightly.“Welcome to the club.So far, none of this makes sense.”
“No,” he agrees, wondering how it felt to be the child of a very talented musician with lots of money, but no love from her father.
She sinks onto one of the old trunks, shoulders slumping.“This doesn’t feel impulsive,” she says.“It feels calculated.”
“Yes,” Callum agrees.“Keir didn’t do anything impulsive with his body.Or his consequences.”
“So something pushed him here.”
Callum hesitates.“Or someone.”
Her jaw tightens.“My mother always said he didn’t want a family.”
“That’s not the same as not wanting people,” Callum replies.
She looks at him sharply.“What’s the difference?”
“The difference,” he says carefully, “is believing you are the problem.”
Her voice trembles.“That still doesn’t make it right.”
“No,” he agrees.“It doesn’t.”
They sit with that.With the weight of it.With the knowledge that the truth is not going to be kind to either of them.
Finally, Isla folds the invoice carefully, as if it might shatter if she isn’t gentle.“One day,” she says, “I’m going to know exactly why he made this choice.”
Callum nods.“And when you do, it won’t erase what it cost you.”
She meets his gaze.“No.But I’m going to talk to my mother and ask her if she knew about the vasectomy.”
“Good idea,” he says, doubting that her mother will ever tell her the truth.
The lock rattles faintly as the building settles.
“It’s getting late.We need to find a way out,” Isla says.
“I know.”
