Dad turned to him. “Your girlfriend was walking home with your child and groceries because your mother took the car she’s been paying for.”
Derek’s eyes flicked toward Patricia. That was answer enough.
“It wasn’t like that,” he muttered.
“Then tell me how it was,” Dad said.
Derek rubbed the towel across the back of his neck. “Mom just said we needed to be practical. She had errands. Lauren works from home most days anyway.”
I stared at him. “I asked for the car because Evan had a fever last night and I wanted to be able to get him to urgent care if I needed to.”
He exhaled like I had inconvenienced him by saying something true. “He was fine by morning.”
“You didn’t know that,” I said.
Patricia cut in before he could answer. “Let’s not dramatize this. I have done more for this little family than anyone else. I opened my home to you. I buy groceries. I watch the baby when I can. The least I expect is respect.”
Dad took one measured step forward. “Respect is not making my daughter ask permission to leave the house.”
Patricia’s face hardened. “No one is forcing Lauren to stay.”
The room went still.
She had said the quiet part out loud.
Derek looked uncomfortable, but not surprised. That hurt more than I expected.
Dad nodded once, like something had just been confirmed. “Good,” he said. “Because she’s leaving.”
Patricia laughed, short and incredulous. “With what money?”
Every inch of humiliation in that question landed exactly where she intended. It was aimed at me, but Dad answered it.
“Mine,” he said.
She blinked.
He went on in that same calm voice, dry and steady as seasoned wood. “She and Evan are coming home with me tonight. Tomorrow we’ll get her into my sister’s rental for as long as she needs. We’ll contact a lawyer about the car payments, and if necessary we’ll let a judge hear exactly how you used transportation to control a woman with an infant.”
Derek dropped the towel onto a chair. “Hold on. Nobody is controlling anybody.”
Dad turned to him. “Then why was she walking?”
Derek opened his mouth. Closed it.
“Why,” Dad repeated, “did your son’s mother have to limp home in this heat while the car she pays for sat downstairs?”
This time Derek looked at me, really looked, maybe for the first time in weeks. He saw the swollen ankle, the exhaustion, the expression on my face that wasn’t pleading anymore.
“I thought you’d be back before it got too hot,” he said weakly.
I almost laughed.