His face drained of color.
“What do you mean it’s been reported?”
My father calmly set his fork down.
I watched him—not Patrick.
Because suddenly, I understood.
Whatever he had typed… had already started moving.
Patrick turned away from the table, lowering his voice but not enough.
“No, Mom, listen to me. It’s fine. I’ll fix it. Just—don’t talk to anyone else about it, okay?”
Another pause.
Then louder, more urgent:
“No, you can’t just give it back now! That’ll make it worse—”
He stopped again.
Slowly, very slowly, he turned his head toward my father.
And for the first time since I’d known him…
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