“My lawyer will follow up in the morning,” my father added. “Of course, if the vehicle is returned promptly, the matter can remain… uncomplicated.”
Patrick ran a hand through his hair, pacing now. “This is insane. You’re blowing this out of proportion.”
“No,” my father replied. “I’m correcting a pattern.”
That word.
Pattern.
It hung in the air—because everyone at that table suddenly saw it.
Not just tonight.
Everything.
The gifts. The control. The quiet dismissals.
Me.
Patrick looked at me then, like he expected me to step in. To fix it. To defend him.
Like I always had.
But something inside me had shifted.
Maybe it started in the taxi.
Maybe it cracked when he spoke.
But now—
Now it was gone.
“I didn’t agree to give your mother my car,” I said, my voice steady despite the storm inside me.
His expression hardened. “We’re married.”
“Yes,” I said. “Not owned.”
That landed harder than anything else had.
For a moment, no one breathed.
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