When he did, his voice was ruined.
“Kesha.”
“No.”
He flinched.
“You don’t know what I’m going to say.”
“I know every version of my name in your mouth. The angry one. The charming one. The courtroom one. The one you used when you wanted me to doubt myself. I’m not interested in any of them.”
His shoulders sagged.
“I deserve that.”
“Yes.”
“I need to make this right.”
“You can’t.”
The answer cut him more deeply than I expected.
He stepped closer, then stopped himself.
“There has to be something.”
“There is. You can cooperate with the investigation. You can stop lying. You can respect boundaries. You can explain to your family what you did without blaming me. You can start a trust for the children without demanding gratitude. You can enter therapy before ever asking them for time. You can accept that being their biological father does not make you their dad.”
