Eight Years Of Shredding Her Lies Chapter 2

The next morning, I drove to my father’s house in the suburbs.

As I pushed open the heavy oak door, I heard laughter coming from the living room. My father was sitting on his leather recliner, holding a gold Rolex, his face lit up with a genuine warmth I hadn't seen in years.

Sitting next to him was Jordan, my best friend since college.

"Seriously, Ben," Jordan was saying, leaning back. "Oliver really has class. He knew you were looking for this vintage Submariner and went through three different brokers in Zurich to get it for you."

My father sighed, admiring the watch. "He’s a good kid. Always was. If Miles hadn't made such a damn scene eight years ago, Oliver would be the one sitting here at Thanksgiving."

I stood in the foyer, holding a bag of his favorite pastries from the bakery I’d waited thirty minutes in line for. The plastic handles were digging into my fingers, but the pain was nothing compared to the rot spreading in my chest.

This was my father. My best friend. They were sitting in the house I helped pay for, singing the praises of the man who was dismantling my marriage.

I walked in and dropped the bag on the mahogany dining table. The thud made them both jump.

My father’s smile vanished instantly. He awkwardly slid the watch box behind a cushion. "Miles. You’re early. Where’s Elena?"

Jordan stood up, dusting crumbs off his jeans, his eyes shifting everywhere but mine.

I walked straight to my father. "That’s a nice watch, Dad. Who’s it from?"

My father cleared his throat, looking at the ceiling. "Just... a business associate. Don't worry about it."

Jordan tried to step in, grabbing my arm with a forced, brotherly grin. "Hey man, it’s just a gift. You look like hell, Miles. Did you get any sleep?"

I wrenched my arm away so hard Jordan stumbled into the coffee table. "Is that new Tesla in your driveway from a 'business associate' too, Jordan?"

I’d seen the car outside. I remembered Jordan complaining last month about his commissions being down. Jordan turned pale.

"I... I took out a lease, Miles. Back off."

"Really?" I pulled out my phone and swiped to the photo from the iPad. I held it up, my hand shaking so violently the image blurred. "Then explain this. Why is there a photo of my father, my best friend, and Oliver at a 4th of July BBQ from three years ago?"

My father’s face went from guilty to defiant. He slammed the watch box onto the table. "Fine! It was from Oliver! So what?"

"So what?" I breathed. "Dad, I’m your son. This man tried to destroy my life, and you’ve been sneaking around behind my back, taking bribes to help him stay close to my wife?"

My father stood up, pointing a finger at my chest. "You want the truth? You’re the one who destroyed your life, Miles. You’ve smothered that woman for eight years. You’ve turned into a neurotic mess, shredding passports and crying like a jilted teenager. Oliver is a success. He’s stable. He’s the man she should have been with."

Every word was a poisoned needle. I looked at Jordan, looking for a shred of remorse.

Jordan just looked at the floor. "Miles, your dad is right. You’re too much. Oliver doesn't want trouble. He just wanted to see Lily. You’re the one making this a war."

It was so absurd I actually started laughing. A jagged, broken sound that felt like glass in my throat. This was the world I had fought to protect. A wife who hated me, a daughter who feared me, a father who traded me for a watch, and a friend who sold me out for a car.

I stopped laughing and wiped my eyes. "If you love him so much," I said, my voice cold and hollow, "then he can be the one to drive you to your colonoscopies. He can be the one to call you on Father’s Day."

I turned toward the door.

"Miles!" my father barked. "You walk out that door and act like a child, don't bother coming back for Christmas!"

I didn't even pause. I heard Jordan whisper behind me, "Let him go. He just can't stand seeing anyone else happy."