“You mean the shoes of a man who had a wife who loved him. Three boys who could have idolized him. A life of greatness on a land that is full of beauty and grace.”
“You don’t even remember your mother. She was not all that, believe me.”
Anger blossomed in my chest. A hard, jagged ball of it that made me feel like I was choking on it. My fingers curled into fists, nails digging into my palms.
“Don’t you fucking dare talk about her like that,” I snarled. “She was a million times the person you’ll ever be. And I do remember. I remember she loved us, cared about us, spent time with us, whereas you.” My throat constricted, making it difficult to breath, difficult to talk, yet I had so much that I wanted to say to him.
“Yes, and she forgot she had a husband in the process.” His lips pouted like a child and there it was, every damn reason he did what he did.
“You were jealous of us, weren’t you?” I said with a laugh. “Jealous of your own sons because we took her attention. We took her attention, so you took everything else didn’t you.” I tapped my finger on the table; an exclamation mark for every vile thing he did. “You cheated on her and then cheatedusjust because you were having a temper tantrum at the amount of time your wife spent with her boys.”
Focusing on him, it was clear he had no misgivings over his actions. The steady breathing, the way he was examining his fingernails, how he looked around the room like he was on a bench at the park watching people passing by.
Pushing my chair back, I cleared my throat. “Okay, Michael, I’m out of here.”
“That’s it. I get five minutes of your time?”
“Yep.” I stood up and shook my head. “Four minutes too long if I’m being honest.”
His lips twitched, his smirk morphing into something I hadn’t seen before…something sad. And I felt nothing. No pity. No sorrow. No regrets.
“Have a nice life, Michael, because I will.”
And I would. The shackles were gone from my heart, and it was time tostart living. Time to let myself feel, because I was not the son of my father.
I was not responsible for his sins, and I would no longer carry them on my shoulders.
“Just think about this one thing, Wilder,” he called as I started to walk away. “I wasn't the only one to cheat in my marriage.”
I stopped. My whole body went cold, then hot, then cold again. When I turned around, my father was smiling. Actually smiling. “You're lying.” But even as I said it, doubt crept in like smoke under a door.
“Nine months before you were born, Wilder. Wild timing, don't you think?”
The visiting room tilted. Twenty-five years of wondering why I was never enough, why he looked at me like I was a mistake he couldn't undo. If this was true...
“Even if it were true,” I said, surprised by how steady my voice sounded, “it doesn't change what you are. What you did to us. To her.” I stepped closer to the table. “You stole from your sons. You let us think we weren't worth loving. And now you're trying to poison the one good memory we have left of her.” His smile faltered. “I'm done carrying your damage.” The words felt like pulling shrapnel from a wound. “Whatever you did to break her, whatever she did to survive you, that's between you and your conscience. If you have one.”
I wanted to puke. A slick, heated, sweat coated my back as I walked out without a backward glance, the steel door clanging shut behind me like it was sealing something in. Or maybe locking somethingout, I couldn’t tell anymore.
Outside the sky had turned the same color as the cinderblock walls inside. Heavy. Low. Threatening rain.
I stopped just outside, bent forward, hands on my thighs, lungs burning like I’d sprinted a mile instead of being sat across from a man with my jawline and none of my heart.
I wanted to believe he was lying. Ineededto.
But the way he’d said it, like it was his life’s work to hurt me, that was the part that stuck.
My stomachchurned. I swallowed hard and looked up at the sky, hoping for some kind of sign.
All I got was silence.
I kept walking, heart heavier than when I’d arrived, dragging questions I hadn’t wanted and answers I might never trust.
And maybe that was the real inheritance he’d left me—doubt. There was a voice that whispered in my head that it could be true. Maybe Mom had been distant those last months. Maybe that was why Dad never looked at me with pride. Maybe I really was the unwanted mistake.
Once back in my rental, I sat in the prison parking lot for an hour, engine off, hands shaking. The rain on the windshield blurred everything into gray shapes, which felt about right. Twenty-five years of questions, and all I'd gotten were more questions. Worse ones. My phone buzzed. A text from Nash:
Nash
