Page 81 of Six Month Wife

“Jesus, Dad. You can’t?—”

“Relax. I didn’t say anything you haven’t already told me. But if there’s something hinky in the wording of that will, don’t you think we should know now instead of six months from now when it blows up in your face?”

I clench the steering wheel tighter. “You went behind my back.”

“I went around your back.” He smiles like that’s any different. “There’s a difference. I’m protecting the family. I’d think you, of all people, would appreciate that.”

I pull into the drop-off lane with my jaw tight.

“Stay out of it, Dad. I'm asking you to stop with all of this.”

“I can’t,” he says simply. “Not when your name’s tied to mine. You know that.”

The door shuts.

And like that, he’s gone, striding into the terminal like he owns the place, Starbucks in hand and not a single doubt in his step.

I don’t move. Instead, I sit there, hands on the wheel, watching the crowd swell and shift until he disappears.

I can’t let myself drop my guard.

Her words echo in my head. Adair let me in last night. Not all the way. Not fully. But enough.

Enough to kiss me like she meant it, letting go of our argument on the way in to meet Paul, the stress of our performance meetings, hell, even the first misunderstanding with Rose.

And then the phone rang. One stupid, mistimed call during a very inopportune time and one voice from my past, and now everything’s completely fucked.

She doesn’t know Rose was calling about her. Nor doesshe know that I asked for help behind the scenes because I believe in her line. Because I wanted to do something good, something that didn’t have strings, something that was focused on what she built.

But now she thinks there’s something between me and Rose and that I’ve been lying. Whatever tiny piece of trust she gave me, whatever sliver of vulnerability she offered up in that moment, is gone.

Don’t let your guard down.

Too late. She did.

And I don’t know how to get it back up without pushing her even further away.

The words ping in my head like a ricochet as I pull away from the curb, merging back into traffic.

The drive to the hospital is longer than usual, though it’s only a few miles. I turn on the radio, flipping through stations until I land on something low and instrumental. My thoughts are too loud for lyrics right now.

It’s been a helluva few days. I'm still not sure what to make of Paul. Leeland's cryptic warning that Paul has doubts almost comes out of nowhere. I mean, sure, the meeting could have been a little smoother, but I don't think it was a disaster.

And Paul even said it was nice to see a couple in love. What am I missing?

The hospital looms ahead, its familiar structure a strange comfort. As I park and make my way inside, I can’t shake the thought that my life was simpler before this inheritance.

Back then, I had my job, my routines, my steady, predictable world. Now, everything is spinning out of control. Adair, the inheritance, even my relationship with my dad, who normally stays in my periphery, is full of more tension than usual.

I swipe my ID badge and step into the ER, the scent of antiseptic and the chaos of activity immediately grounding me.

My shift is steady, if not uneventful. A sprained wrist from a basketball game, a senior with a nasty ear infection, a man who insists his stubbed toe is broken.

For a few hours, I’m able to push everything else to the back of my mind. Here, I know what I’m doing. Here, I’m not second-guessing every decision or wondering if I’m being watched by a lawyer sent to judge my worthiness.

But the quiet moments, the lulls between patients, bring it all back.

By the time my shift ends, I’m exhausted. I change out of my scrubs and make my way back to the parking garage. The late afternoon air is cool against my skin, but it's no relief.