I give my children compassion. I give up my whole f*****g life for my children. Who is she to throw the blame on me when she knows nothing about our situation?
I take a large gulp of my scotch when she walks out with her overnight bag in her arms.
Tell her not to go.
I press my lips together so that I don’t beg her out loud. I sip my scotch again with my leg bouncing underneath the table.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Well, you’re drinking scotch at 10:30 a.m.” She stands and watches me for a moment. “I didn’t mean it to sound like I think you’re a bad father.” She hesitates. “That’s not how I meant it.”
“That’s how it sounded.”
She takes a seat at the table opposite me. “Julian.”
I stare at my glass on the table.
“Will you look at me?”
I drag my eyes up to her
