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Bile rose in my throat.
“Dad, I just… I'm asking for a chance to rebuild the trust I broke.”
“You had that chance when I asked you to come back to Minnesota, Evie.”
His voice softened. “You still have that chance.”
“Now, if you'll excuse me. I'm running late for a meeting.”
Before I had the chance to say anything, he ended the call.
A part of me was relieved. It felt good to know that Dad still had space for me. For us to mend things...
And this time, I wouldn't let anything stand in the way. Not Ethan… not Sophie. Perhaps it was time to be selfish.
Ignoring the obvious tug in my heart, I clenched my fist, stood up, and marched to his office.
I would tender my resignation for both jobs… continue my volunteering experience elsewhere, and live life just as it was before him.
I knocked on his door. When he didn't answer, I knocked again. There still was no response, and I knocked three more times.
I furrowed my brows. Even though he ignored me, he didn't ignore my knocks.
Shaking my head, I pushed past the door and released a little gasp when I took in his form.
He was on the floor, legs spread out before him, suit yanked to a corner of his office, and the first three buttons of his shirt undone.
But that wasn't what baffled me.
What did, was the half-empty bottle of whiskey in his hand which content seemed to have trailed down his chest. The yellow stain was visible against his white long- sleeved shirt.
He hadn't noticed me as his head was lowered. His chin was tucked to his chest and his hair was unusually messy.
All other missions were temporarily abolished as I walked into the office.
“Sir?” I swallowed. He didn't respond.
Was he drunk? In the office?
I quickly reached him, lowering myself to nudge his shoulder. Slowly, he lifted his head to stare at me.
“I'm sorry,” he slurred.
I held my breath. I didn't know whether it was from the stench of alcohol or how disheveled he looked. But bile rose in my throat again.
I’d never seen him this way. But I hated it. I hated his broken demeanor.
His shoulders shook in a sob, but his eyes were dry. He was drunk. I wondered why.
“What’s wrong?” My voice was a low whisper.
He attempted to stand but failed woefully.
How drunk was he?
I quickly tugged the bottle from his hand.
“It's… it's... I'm sorry, Evie. I shouldn't have…”
