“I did. I do.” He wrapped his hands around his own cup, and that's when I noticed the sobriety coin sitting on the table between us. Dark medallion, worn edges, the kind they gave you in programs when you hit milestones. “Six months,” he said, following my gaze. “Six months sober. I wanted you to see it.”
I stared at the coin and felt anger and hope war in my chest. “Congratulations.”
“I know that doesn't fix anything?—”
“It doesn't.”
“—but I wanted you to know I'm trying. That I've been trying.” He pushed the coin across the table toward me. “I want you to have this. As proof, I guess. That I'm serious about getting better.”
I picked up the coin and turned it over in my fingers. It was heavier than I'd expected, solid and real, and the date stamped on the back confirmed what he'd said. Six months.
“Why are you still with her?” I asked, setting the coin down. “If you're sober and she's not, why the fuck are you still married to her?”
He flinched like I'd hit him. “It's complicated.”
“Bullshit. Either you're choosing to stay with someone who's actively using, or you're not. That's not complicated. That's a choice.”
“She threatened me,” he said quietly. “When I told her I was going to get help. When I said I wanted to support you and the kids. She told me if I didn't go along with her plans—the custody fight, all of it—she'd make sure I never saw any of you again.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. “What?”
“She has lawyers, Soren. Money. Connections I don't have. And she told me that if I sided with you, she'd use every resource she had to make sure I lost access to Poppy. To all of you.” His hands were shaking now despite the sobriety. “I know that doesn't excuse it. I know I should have fought her anyway. But I was weak and scared and I thought—fuck, I thought if I just went along with it, I could at least stay in your lives somehow.”
I wanted to yell at him. Wanted to tell him that fear wasn't an excuse for abandoning us, that staying silent made him complicit, that he'd still had choices even if they were all shit. But I could also see the truth in his face.
“You could have told me,” I said, and my voice came out rougher than I'd intended. “You could have called. Texted.Something. Instead of just disappearing and letting us think you didn't give a shit.”
“I know. You're right. I was a coward.” He looked down at his coffee. “I've been a coward for most of your life, and I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, Soren.”
The apology sounded real and I didn’t know what to think of that.
We sat in silence for a minute, the noise of the coffee shop washing over us while I tried to figure out what the fuck I was supposed to do with this.
“I forgive you,” I said eventually, and watched his head snap up in surprise. “But that doesn't mean I trust you. Trust has to be earned back piece by piece. Block by block. And it's not just me you have to prove yourself to. It's Talia and Micah and Poppy too. They're the ones who had to live with the fallout of you checking out.”
“I know. I'll do whatever it takes.”
“And you need to understand that forgiveness doesn't mean everything goes back to normal. It means I'm willing to let you try to be better. That's it.”
“That's more than I deserve,” he said quietly.
“Yeah. It probably is.” I picked up the sobriety coin again and slipped it into my pocket. “What about Mom? What's the plan there?”
He took a breath, and I could see him bracing for whatever he was about to say. “I'm divorcing her.”
The world tilted sideways.
“What?”
“I filed papers last week. She doesn't know yet—my lawyer's waiting until after the custody hearing to serve her. But I'm done, Soren. I can't keep enabling her, and I can't keep pretending that staying married to her is helping anyone.”
I stared at him, trying to process what this meant. My parents were getting divorced. The woman who'd made my childhood a nightmare was about to lose her biggest enabler. The custody fight was about to get even messier because she'd be dealing with this on top of everything else.
“She's going to lose her fucking mind,” I said.
“Probably. But that's not my problem anymore.” He met my eyes, and I saw something in his face I'd never seen before—resolve. Actual, genuine determination to do the right thing even when it was hard. “I should have done this years ago. Before you had to step in and raise your siblings. Before everything went to shit. But I'm doing it now, and I'm going to support you however I can in the custody fight.”
The conversation continued for another twenty minutes, covering logistics and timelines and the messy reality of trying to rebuild trust after years of damage. By the time I left the coffee shop, my head was spinning and my chest felt too full.
