I shake my head, managing a small smile.
“So you stopped me from punching him because you wanted to call dibs?”
His expression sobers as he looks at me.
“No, Ethan. I stopped you because he’s your father.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he stops me with a look, one that cuts right through my rising anger.
He holds my gaze, his voice steady. “Hey. Calm down. I know how you’re feeling right now. I know it hurts. But I didn’t want you to carry something like that… something you might regret one day.”
“I wouldn’t regret it,” I mutter. “I’ll never forget. Or forgive.”
Uncle Mark exhales slowly.
“I know. And now you’ll never have to find out, leave it to me.”
He offers a half-smile.
“I’ll work on my strength. My hands are better at hacking than hitting. But next time, I’ll land a few extra punches.”
I give him a small smile in return.
“He didn’t hit you,” I say, noticing there isn’t a mark on his face.
He shakes his head.
“He’s a coward.” I spit the words, unable to hold them back. “Only knows how to strike from behind.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Not gonna argue with that.”
I walk into the living room and pour a glass of the whiskey he likes. When I hand it to him, he thanks me quietly.
“Are you staying a little longer?” I ask, rubbing the back of my neck, suddenly awkward. “I want to go for a run, but I don’t want to leave the two of them alone.”
Uncle Mark’s been here most of the time since we got back from my grandparents’ on Sunday night. He even brought some of his work with him, only going home to sleep.
He smiles. “Of course. Go ahead. I’ll take care of our girls. Just don’t go too far, stick to the neighborhood. And don’t take too long. You’ve got school tomorrow.”
He pats my shoulder, and I head upstairs, taking the steps two at a time.
I change into my running clothes and sneakers, then step outside, asking Uncle Mark to let Mom know. I don’t want her to see me like this.
The moment my feet hit the pavement, I start running—faster with every step. Each stride pulls me farther from the ghost of the past, and with it, all the betrayals.
Mark
I find Ceci in the sunroom, one foot propped on the chair, her chin resting on her knee. Her eyes are fixed on the laptop screen, but it’s clear she isn’t seeing it.
Every time I remember how I found her that day—just a few blocks from that bastard’s office—broken, defenseless, curled against the glass of a storefront…
“Mark, I can’t… I can’t breathe. No air.”
I try to push the memory away, but it refuses to let go. I’ll never forget carrying her to the car while people stared, Cecily gasping for breath, her body trembling in my arms.
Taking her to my loft. Watching her stand in front of the window for nearly half an hour. Motionless, hollow. And when she finally spoke, when the words started coming—her suspicions, the perfume, the lipstick, her visit to his office—I almost wished she’d stayed silent.
I never liked the way he always seemed to put work ahead of his family. But the way he looked at Cecily… the way he touched her, the way he took care of her in his own way, I would’ve never believed he could do something like this. Not if it had come from anyone else.
