When she spoke again, her voice was calm enough to be frightening. “You are our biological father,” she said. “That is true. But that’s all.”
She told him plainly that a real parent stays when things get hard. “You chose not to do that. Grandma did.”
Mike’s eyes reddened. He lowered his head and muttered something that might have been regret.
Larissa didn’t let him continue. She closed the file folder with a firm snap and reminded him that late remorse did not repay 18 years of absence. Then she walked to the front door, opened it wide, and stood aside.
As a final courtesy, edged with dry irony, she suggested he consult a better attorney if he wanted a second opinion. He would hear the same answer anywhere else.
Mike got to his feet slowly, looking every bit like a man finally forced to see himself clearly. He shuffled toward the door, then paused with one hand near the frame.
“How do you even live here without her?” he asked quietly, still looking at the floor.
It was the first honest question he had asked since arriving.
“We’re doing just fine,” Larissa said. And she meant it.
Mike nodded once, as if accepting a verdict. He turned for one last look at Daniel. In his son’s eyes there was no hatred, no drama—only the complete indifference of a grown man looking at a stranger.
Then Mike left, and that was the last time either of them heard from him.
Larissa waited until his footsteps faded, then closed the door gently. She had no interest in wasting energy on a dramatic slam. She stood in the quiet hallway for a moment, took a breath, then went into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee…
