"She's blaming me."
Of course she was.
People who avoid responsibility usually need somewhere else to place it.
"And are you responsible?"
He stared at the table.
"Partly."
"Good answer."
Because he was.
Not for Chelsea's behavior.
For tolerating it.
There is a difference.
An important one.
The conversation continued for nearly an hour.
Not about money.
About life.
Work.
His childhood.
His mother.
The years that had somehow disappeared between us.
Then, as he stood to leave, he hesitated.
"Dad..."
"Yes?"
"The savings."
I smiled slightly.
There it was.
Eventually we arrived at the real subject.
"What about them?"
His expression turned uncertain.
"How much do you actually have?"
I laughed.
A genuine laugh.
The first one in weeks.
"You came all the way here to ask that?"
"No."
But he looked embarrassed.
Which meant yes.
"Enough."
"Enough for what?"
I stood and walked him to the door.
"Enough not to worry."
That answer frustrated him.
Good.
Some information belongs to the person who earned it.
At the doorway, he stopped.
"Dad?"
"Yes?"
"I really am sorry."
This time the apology felt different.
Less polished.
Less strategic.
More honest.
I nodded.
"I know."
Then he left.
I watched from the window as he walked toward his car.
His shoulders looked heavier.
His steps slower.
Because something important had happened tonight.
For the first time in his life, Logan had started seeing me as a man instead of simply his father.
Not a backup plan.
Not an emergency fund.
Not a handyman.
A person.
The next morning, however, I learned something that changed everything.
At 8:42 a.m., Fiona called.
The moment I answered, I could hear concern in her voice.
"Albert."
"What happened?"
"Your daughter-in-law."
I felt my stomach tighten.
"What did Chelsea do?"
Fiona exhaled slowly.
"She filed a petition this morning."
