With each question, his voice grows louder and louder with righteous anger.
And I find myself flinching.
I feared this would be his reaction, but a part of me, a very small part, was hoping that he’d understand. That he’d support me once he knew the truth.
Again, I try to explain, “Yes, I caught him with—”
And again, he cuts me off by loudly talking over me. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing? Are you intentionally trying to ruin me? Is this how you pay me back for everything I’ve done for you?”
Those words, everything he’s ever done for me, cause a thick weight of guilt to tighten around my throat like a noose.
I’ve never forgotten for one moment everything he’s done for me, and since he walked back into my life I’ve felt beholden to him.
Beholden for existing.
I try to defend myself, try one last time to explain it, but he’s not having any of it. “No, I’m not trying to—”
“Do you know how much money I’ve spent on you? How many strings I had to pull to get you into your fancy school out in California? How much networking I’ve done for your sake? The sacrifices I’ve made… the time I’ve spent… the money I’ve spent… I’ve given it to you so you can have the kind of life you deserve, the kind of life you’re enjoying right now. And this is how you repay me? You repay me by destroying what I’ve spent the last twenty years of my life accomplishing?”
The noose tightens, nearly choking me. I’m not trying to ruin my father or destroy his dreams, but I can see why he might think that of me.
Everything he said is true. He has spent a considerable amount of time and money on me. He’s invested in me, but he hasn’t necessarily done it selflessly. All the things he’s done for me he’s done because he gets something out of it. In fact, he used his money, power, and connections as a trap. Luring me in when I was at my weakest.
I’m not completely blameless, though. I knew when he walked back into my life when I was sixteen after abandoning me for fourteen years that he wasn’t doing it out of a sudden sense of remorse or regret.
He needed me. Needed me to complete his perfect family image for the public.
After my mother divorced him, my father found and eventually married a wealthy heiress. An heiress who could help him achieve his dreams of winning a public office.
An heiress that unfortunately turned out to be barren.
Unwilling to adopt but knowing he was unlikely to win the Nevada governor seat unless he could portray himself as a family man, my father turned to the only child he had.
Me.
If I could go back, I’d shake myself. I’d implore myself to be happy with what I had. That what he had to offer wasn’t worth the price of my soul.
But it’s too late for that now.
I’ve made this fucking bed, and now I have to deal with all the shit hiding under it.
“Well, do you have nothing to say for yourself, Aubrey?”
Oh, am I finally allowed to speak?
I take a small, calming breath before I rush out, “Tristan cheated on me. I walked in on him yesterday fucking my best friend Ashley in our bed.”
There. It’s out. Maybe he’ll back off now.
The line falls completely silent.
With each second he doesn’t speak, I find myself growing increasingly more and more nervous.
My father is rarely, if ever, speechless.
After what feels like an eternity, I finally hear him take a deep breath.
Then he says, “I’m sorry you had to see that…”