I wasn't yelling.
I wasn't trying to punish him.
I was simply agreeing.
The truth doesn't need volume.
It only needs honesty.
Logan swallowed hard.
"I never thought you'd actually leave."
That sentence hurt more than anything else.
Not because it was cruel.
Because it was revealing.
"You thought I'd stay forever."
His shoulders slumped.
"I guess I did."
I nodded slowly.
Most children never realize the moment their parents stop being permanent.
Not until it happens.
For years I had been part of the furniture.
Always present.
Always available.
Always useful.
Like electricity.
Nobody appreciates it until the power goes out.
"Dad..."
His voice cracked.
"I miss you."
For the first time that evening, I felt my anger soften.
Because unlike the apology, that part wasn't rehearsed.
That part was real.
I could hear it.
The lonely house.
The empty garage.
The missing routines.
The absence.
"You don't miss me," I said gently.
He looked confused.
"Yes, I do."
"No."
I shook my head.
"You miss what I did."
The words hit him hard.
Because deep down, he knew the difference.
He missed the lawn being mowed.
The meals appearing.
The repairs.
The financial safety.
The certainty that if everything went wrong, Dad would fix it.
But missing a service and missing a person were not the same thing.
Tears appeared in his eyes.
Something I hadn't seen since he was a child.
"I do miss you."
This time I believed him.
At least partly.
The silence stretched between us.
Then Logan said something unexpected.
"Chelsea is angry."
I almost laughed.
"About what?"
"Everything."
That I could believe.
"The house."
"The money."
"The legal notices."
"The fact that you won't answer her calls."
I stirred my coffee.
"And?"
Logan looked exhausted.
