I looked at him—and saw flashes of the boy I had raised alone. The child who cried in my arms. The teenager who once told me I was the best father in the world.
But that person wasn’t standing in front of me anymore.
“Alright,” I said calmly.
He looked surprised, expecting anger or a scene.
“Just don’t forget to check your phone,” I added.
Then I turned and walked away.
I drove home, sat in my living room, and waited.
Fifteen minutes later, my phone lit up.
Diego.
I ignored the call.
Then the messages came:
“Dad, what is this?”
“Please answer.”
“There must be a mistake.”
“What did you do?”
I replied with one sentence:
“There’s no mistake. Enjoy your wedding.”
