The question came out half angry and half pleading.
I folded my hands on the table.
“Because worrying about you had become more important to me than taking care of myself.”
He looked away.
“I never asked you to leave.”
“You let Chelsea ask me to disappear into a back bedroom in front of twelve people.”
“Chelsea asked. Not me.”
“And you agreed.”
“I didn’t know what to say.”
“You could’ve said, ‘Dad, stay for dinner.’ Four words, Logan.”
His jaw got tight.
“I was embarrassed,” he said.
That surprised me.
“Of me?”
“No.” He stared at the sugar container between us. “Of the whole situation. You and Chelsea. The tension. The way she talked to you. And the way I kept avoiding it.”
“Why were you embarrassed?”
“Because I knew it was wrong.”
The words were simple. But they landed heavy.
I’d expected him to defend himself. To say Chelsea was stressed, or I’d misunderstood, or everybody was tired.
Instead, he admitted he’d known.
“I thought if I stayed out of it, it would calm down,” he said. “She’d be nicer. You’d stop feeling hurt. I kept telling myself it wasn’t serious.”
“It was serious to me.”
“I know that now.”
“No,” I said quietly. “You know it because I left.”
He flinched.
I regretted how sharp it came out. But I didn’t regret it being true.
A waitress came by. We ordered coffee. Neither of us ordered food.
“Chelsea thinks you planned all this,” he said when she left. “To leave and cut us off. To make us panic.”
“I planned to protect myself. The rest just followed.”
“Then why send all three notices at once?”
“Because they’re all connected.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“Without your collateral, the bank might call the whole credit line. That’s almost four hundred thousand dollars.”
“I know.”
“We don’t have that.”
“I know.”
His eyes got hard.
“How could you let us sign something like that without telling us you could just pull out?”
“I didn’t let you sign it. You signed it. I explained, in front of the loan officer, that my pledge was temporary.”
“You said it was a formality.”
“I said the paperwork was routine if the company performed well.”
He leaned back. He looked hurt.
“You really kept track of everything.”
“I’m an accountant.”
“You kept track of us.”
“I kept track of my obligations.”
He lowered his voice.
“Were we an obligation?”
I looked at my son for a long time.
“No,” I said. “You were my son. That’s why I kept saying yes.”
His face changed then. Not much. But enough for me to see that sentence reach him.
Sophia Rivers is an experienced News Content Editor with a sharp eye for detail and a passion for delivering accurate and engaging news stories. At TheArchivists, she specializes in curating, editing, and presenting news content that informs and resonates with a global audience.
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