Page 77 of Sexting My Ex’s Dad

Nathan’s chest rises under my cheek, controlled, heavy, then he presses his lips to my hair and keeps them there.

“I wasn’t there,” he says again, and each word sounds like it costs him.

I pull back just enough to look at him, and my eyes are wet and furious.

“I didn’t want to need you,” I say, voice breaking. “I didn’t want to want you. I didn’t want to keep remembering your hands when I was packing lunches and paying bills and trying to be two people.”

Nathan’s gaze holds mine, steady and dark, and his thumb brushes under my eye once, wiping a tear like he’s allowed.

“You shouldn’t have had to be two people,” he says, and the edge in his voice makes my pulse jump.

I laugh once, sharp and miserable.

“Well, I was,” I reply. “I was the mom and the dad and the paycheck and the calm one and the bad cop, and I did it while your name sat in my phone like a loaded weapon.”

Nathan’s eyes flicker then harden, and his arms tighten around me as if the idea of that reality offends him.

“You asked me,” he says, and his voice drops further. “That night at dinner, you asked me what I thought about being a father.”

I flinch, and my mouth twists.

“I asked,” I say, then swallow. “I gave you a door and you burned it down.”

Nathan’s stare doesn’t move.

“I would’ve been a dad for her,” he says.

The words hit me so fast I freeze.

Nathan’s mouth stays set, and he looks like he hates himself as he continues.

“I would’ve done it all over again,” he says, voice rough. “Not for Cindy. Not for my name. For her. For you. For the life you were trying to build while you were terrified.”

I shake my head, fast, instinctive, defensive.

“No,” I whisper. “Don’t say that like it’s easy.”

His brow pulls slightly, the expression tight with restraint.

“It wouldn’t have been easy,” he replies. “It would’ve been mine.”

I push my palm against his chest, needing space even while my body wants him close.

“I never wanted to force you,” I say, and the sentence comes out like a confession I’ve been carrying in my teeth. “That’s not who I am.”

Nathan’s gaze sharpens.

“You think I don’t know that,” he asks.

I swallow then keep going, since stopping now will kill me.

“I didn’t want to be the woman who shows up with a pregnancy and a timeline,” I say, voice shaking. “I didn’t want to be the story you already hated. I didn’t want to hear you say you stayed out of obligation.”

Nathan’s hands hold my waist, warm and firm, and he looks at me like he’s trying to memorize my face while I talk.

“I wanted it to be your choice,” I whisper. “A real one. Not fear. Not pressure. Not guilt.”

Nathan’s eyes go darker, and his throat works once as he swallows.