He Married a Forensic Accountant and Decided Fraud Was a Good Hobby. He Forgot Who My Father Was

“Phoebe.

He’s perfect.”

I named him Felix.

And I lay there looking at the two of them and felt the last fragile thread of my marriage let go and drift off, and I was surprised by how little it hurt, and how much lighter I felt without it.

What I felt instead, watching my father hold my son, was the collapse of two years of pride into something much simpler.

I had stayed away from him for so long over a principle — that I would make my own way, owe him nothing, be no one’s heiress.