“Stay there,” I told Brandon.
“Dad—”
“Stay there.”
Colgué.
No me apresuré.
I gathered the photographs, the separation agreement, and the Halden note. I placed them back into the envelope. Then I walked outside.
The cold hit my face.
Brandon stepped out of his car when he saw me. His suit was wrinkled. His hair was disordered. There was a red mark on his neck, maybe from scratching, maybe from Amber. He looked ten years older than he had at his birthday dinner.
“Dad,” he said.
I stopped on my side of the gate.
Iron bars between us.
It felt appropriate.
He looked at my bruised face and flinched.
Por un segundo, la vergüenza lo cruzó tan claramente que casi creí que podría salvarlo.
– Lo siento -dijo-.
I said nothing.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “For last night. For all of it. I shouldn’t have touched you.”
