Page 67 of Sexting My Ex’s Dad

I brush my fingers through her curls and tilt my head toward her room.

“Back to bed,” I tell her. “I’ll check on you in a minute.”

Ivy hesitates then nods and shuffles away, dragging her feet like she wants to make sure she’s still part of this. She pauses at her doorway and looks back once, and I give her a small smile that says go, you’re safe, and I mean it.

She disappears into her room and the door clicks softly behind her.

The quiet that follows is immediate and thick. I turn back to Nathan and let the anger I’ve been holding settle into my face. My voice drops, not loud, not dramatic, just sharp enough to cut. “You don’t get to show up here.”

Nathan’s eyes stay on mine. “I already did.”

“That’s not an answer,” I snap. “That’s you doing what you want and calling it fate.”

His mouth tightens slightly, and he steps half a pace closer then stops himself at the line of my doorway. He looks like a man trying to hold control with both hands.

“I came for a conference,” he says. “I went to the park. I saw you.”

“And you followed me.” I tilt my head. “You watched where I live and decided that was normal.”

His gaze doesn’t move. “I decided I wasn’t losing you again.”

I laugh once, short and bitter. “That’s the thing, Nathan. You didn’t lose me. You dismissed me.”

His eyes darken.

“We had this conversation already,” I continue, “and you told me exactly what you think women do with children, then you sat across from me while I tried to hold myself together.”

Nathan’s expression hardens. “I was wrong.”

“Wrong,” I repeat, and my voice threatens to break, so I tighten it again. “That’s what you say now, after six years, after I did everything alone, after you slept fine in your clean house and I learned how to be two people at once.”

Nathan shifts his weight. The movement is restrained, like he wants to reach for me and knows he shouldn’t. “I didn’t sleep fine.”

I stare at him. “You don’t get credit for suffering in private,” I snap. “You don’t get to show up now and expect me to hand you my life.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “I’m not asking for your life.”

“What are you asking for?” I shoot back. “A role you can step into when it suits you. A child you can claim once she’s old enough to understand schedules and not messy enough to ruin your image.”

Nathan’s face goes still. “You think that’s why I’m here,” he says quietly.

“Yes,” I reply. “It’s convenient for you now. Ivy’s older. She’s smart. She’s easy to love. She isn’t a pregnancy test in a trash can.”

His gaze locks on mine. “You were pregnant,” he says, voice low. “Athena, I didn’t realize what you were trying to tell me, and that’s on me. But⁠—”

My throat tightens. “Don’t,” I warn.

Nathan steps closer again. This time he stops just inside the threshold, still not touching me, still not pushing past the boundary I set. The restraint is the only reason I don’t slam the door in his face.

“You asked me about being a dad,” he says. “That night at dinner. You weren’t talking about theory.”

His gaze moves from my eyes to my mouth, to my hands, like he can’t figure out where to fix it. “I didn’t stop to think what you needed then. My mind reverted to my ex, Cindy, and refused to move from there.”

I flinch. His voice stays steady. “I was thinking about threats and HR and the board, and I was thinking about a woman who used my name like a weapon, and I said things you didn’t deserve.”

The tears are coming now, and maybe they’re from the burden of raising Ivy all by myself all these years. Oh, I love her and I’d die for her, but that’s not the same as living for her. It’s not the same as showing up everyday, through night after night of broken sleep. I’ve run on empty for too long to take Nathan’s sympathy.

“I had to survive you once, Nathan,” I tell him, digging my nails into my palms to keep my face set. “I don’t want to do it again.”