Page 52 of Sexting My Ex’s Dad

I climb into bed without turning on any extra lights.

The sheets are cool against my legs. My phone rests on the nightstand like a small bomb I keep pretending isn’t armed.

A vibration cuts through the quiet. I reach for it immediately.

Unknown number.

My heart skips a beat. I open the message thread to find a picture of Nathan and me at the restaurant. We’re seated close enough that his shoulder nearly brushes mine.

His hand is on my thigh under the table, fingers spread possessively against the fabric of my dress. My face is turned toward him, lips parted like I’m listening.

I stare at it, frozen. Within the next half-second, a text message follows.

If you want your baby to live, run.

10

NATHAN SR

The drive home is painfully long.

I keep both hands on the wheel and let the city roll past without really registering it, then I park in my driveway and sit in the dark with the engine off, staring at the house like it’s going to give me instructions. My shirt still smells faintly of her, and it makes my skin feel tight in places I can’t explain.

Dinner didn’t go the way it should have.

That’s the mild version.

I treated Athena like she’d walked into my life with a plan in her purse, and I watched her face change when I said what I said, then I let her sit in that silence while I played the role of a man too disciplined to admit he’d just cut someone open with words.

I unlock the front door and step inside, setting my keys down with more force than necessary. The house suddenly feels like a place built for one man to avoid his own thoughts.

My jacket goes over the chair.

My phone goes face down on the counter.

I walk to the kitchen sink, turn the faucet on, and wash my hands like I just came out of Trauma Bay Two. It’s a useless habit in my own home, but it gives my fingers something to do while my mind rewinds the moment I lost control at that table.

Kids get used as weapons.

Tools. Agendas.

I said those words like they were clinical facts, and I watched Athena look like she’d been slapped.

The worst part is I meant them, at least the part that has Cindy’s fingerprints all over it. I’ve lived the version where a woman smiles, sets a trap, then tells the world you’re the monster if you don’t accept the role she wrote for you.

But Athena isn’t Cindy.

Athena moves through life looking for people who need steadiness, and she gives it like it costs her nothing, then she keeps going even when she’s exhausted.

She asked me about being a father, and I made it about being hunted.

I brace my hands on the counter and stare at the tile while the water runs.

Cindy has been too present lately.

The phone call. The pictures. The threats dressed up as concern for my career. It slid under my skin faster than I expected, and when Athena asked a question that should’ve been personal, my brain answered with history.

I shut off the faucet and dry my hands slowly, then I pick up my phone and open the messages with Athena. The last thread is earlier today. A few lines. A few pictures. A few words that still land hot in my body.