“You asked him to,” she repeats slowly.
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t think to discuss this with us first?”
“No.”
Another silence. Longer this time.
“Logan, I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, but this behavior is?—”
“Appropriate,” I finish for her. “This behavior is appropriate. I dug you out of a financial hole you created without a modicum of thanks. Then you used my money to fund a lifestyle that included treating the woman I love like she was something you scraped off your shoe. That has consequences.”
I feel Audrey’s eyes on me, but I don’t look at her. I keep my gaze fixed on the simulation data scrolling across my screen. Numbers are easier than emotions. They always have been.
“That woman,” my mother says, and the disdain in her voice is palpable, “is not suitable for someone of your?—”
“Stop.”
The word comes out as a growl.
“I’m going to say this once, and I need you to actually hear it.” I take a breath. “Audrey is the person I’m going to spend my life with. That’s not a discussion. That’s not something you get to have an opinion on. It’s a fact, like gravity or the speed of light. You can accept it or not. I genuinely don’t care which.”
“Logan—”
“What I do care about is how you treat her. And based on your performance at dinner, you’ve lost the privilege of being in the same room with her until you can demonstrate basic human decency.” I pause. “The travel account will remain frozen until further notice, and the only property you’ll have access to is Barrington Hills. If you have concerns about your financial situation, I suggest you discuss them with Father. His income should be more than sufficient for your immediate needs.”
“This is absurd. You can’t just?—”
“I can. I am. Goodbye, Mother.”
I end the call.
The lab is very quiet. The simulation continues its steady scroll of data—green indicators, stable metrics, everything functioning exactly as designed. My hands are shaking slightly. I flatten them against the desk.
“Logan.” Audrey’s voice is soft. She’s standing next to me now, though I didn’t hear her move. “Are you OK?”
I consider the question. Run a quick diagnostic on my emotional state.
“Yes,” I say, and I’m surprised to find it’s true. “I think I am.”
The old voice is there—faint, familiar—whispering that I’ve just destroyed whatever thin thread of connection remained with my parents. That I’ll regret this. That I’m not the kind of person who gets to set boundaries and have them respected.
But I shove it down. I don’t have to live by that old programming anymore.
“That was...” Audrey shakes her head. “I don’t even know what to say. You just?—”
“Set a boundary.” I swivel my chair to face her. “Apparently that’s something I’m capable of now. The data was inconclusive before, but I think we can confirm it.”
She laughs—a wet sound, as if she might be close to tears. “You absolute weirdo. I love you so much.”
“I love you too.” The words come easier now than they used to. Practice helps. “And I meant what I said. All of it.”
“The part about spending your life with me?”
“Especially that part.” I reach for her hand. “Although I should clarify—I have a plan. For making that official. There are spreadsheets involved. I just need to optimize a few more variables before?—”
She kisses me, which effectively ends the sentence. That’s fine. I wasn’t sure where it was going, anyway.
