I wasn't expecting anyone.
Edward had just left an hour ago, promising to talk to his father sometime in the next few days. We'd stood at the doorway, both of us pretending not to be scared. His last words before leaving still echoed in my mind:
"No matter what he says… I'm coming back to you."
I clung to that like oxygen.
But now now the knock at my door was sharp. Heavy. Unfriendly.
An impatient knock I knew too well.
My heart dropped into my stomach.
Frank.
My fingers curled around the doorknob before my mind even caught up.
When I opened the door, the man who had once been my husband stood there soaked in anger, confusion, and something that looked a lot like humiliation. His jaw was clenched. His eyes were cold. He didn't bother with greetings.
He pushed past me without permission, walking into my living room like he still owned it.
"Hello to you too," I muttered, closing the door.
"Don't start," he snapped.
Oh, the irony.
I crossed my arms, leaning against the door. "You want to explain why you're barging into my house?"
His eyes darted around like he expected to find someone hiding in the shadows.
Not someone.
Edward.
I swallowed.
He turned to me, face tight. "We need to talk."
"Fine. Talk."
"Not here."
I gave a dry laugh. "Then you shouldn't have shown up here."
He dragged a hand through his hair a gesture he did whenever he felt cornered.
He was cornered, and he knew it.
"Leah…" His voice lost a bit of its bite. "Are you… involved with Edward?"
There it was. Straight to the bone.
I didn't answer immediately.
Because honestly? How do you answer that?
How do you explain something forbidden, messy, morally questionable yet so deeply right it steals your breath?
He saw my silence and exploded.
"Jesus Christ, Leah!" he hissed. "Stop playing games. I'm asking you a simple question."
"Nothing about this is simple," I shot back.
His face twisted. "So you ARE."
I pushed off the door and walked past him, putting distance between us because suddenly the air felt poisoned.
He followed me.
"You're sleeping with my son."
My stomach knotted.
He said it like a sin.
Like a weapon.
Like an accusation meant to destroy me.
I turned slowly to face him. "What difference does it make to you? You cheated on me with your therapist. Remember that?"
"That has nothing to do with this."
I laughed short, humorless. "It has everything to do with this. You threw away our marriage. You humiliated me. You walked away. Yet suddenly you care about my love life?"
His eyes flashed. "This isn't about jealousy."
"Oh, please," I scoffed. "You walked in, saw Edward with me, and your ego shattered. Don't pretend this is moral outrage."
"It IS moral outrage," he snapped. "He's my son. And you you were my wife."
"WERE," I corrected sharply. "Past tense."
"That doesn't change the fact that you're old enough to know better."
The words hit harder than I expected.
I felt something inside me crack. Not from shame no, not anymore. But from the venom in his tone. The sheer hypocrisy.
"Old enough?" I repeated. "Old enough to know what? That love follows rules? That attraction sticks to a family tree? That people can't want who they want?"
His voice rose. "Love? This is NOT love!"
My hands tightened at my sides.
He didn't get to decide that.
He didn't get to define what Edward and I felt. He didn't get to twist it or label it or cheapen it.
"It IS love," I said quietly but firmly. "Believe it or not."
Frank stared at me like I'd just spoken a foreign language one he refused to learn.
"My son," he whispered harshly. "My son, Leah. How could you? After everything? After our marriage? After"
"After YOU betrayed me?" I cut in, eyes burning. "After YOU left me for someone else? After YOU made me doubt everything I ever was? Don't forget who walked away first, Frank. Don't forget who broke the vows."
He opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again.
He had nothing to say.
Nothing that didn't make him a hypocrite.
"So that's it?" he asked finally. "You just… moved on? With him, of all people?"
I lifted my chin. "Yes."
His nostrils flared. "This is sick."
"No," I said calmly. "It's inconvenient. Embarrassing. Unexpected. But not sick. We're two adults. I didn't raise him. I didn't know him when we were married. We met by chance. And we fell for each other."
His expression shifted fear, disbelief, anger all fighting for dominance.
He stepped closer. "Do you love him?"
I swallowed hard.
He saw the answer on my face before I even spoke.
"Jesus Christ," he whispered, stunned. "You do."
"Yes." My voice shook just a little. "I do."
He exhaled harshly, pacing. His shoes thudded against the floor. He looked like a man losing control of something he never expected to lose.
When he stopped pacing, he pinned me with a glare.
"What about him?" he demanded. "Is he just… using you? Rebelling? Trying to get back at me for something?"
"You really think that little of your own son?" I whispered.
"He's young. Impressionable."
"No," I said softly. "He's a grown man who knows what he wants."
"A grown man who should know better than to sleep with his father's ex-wife."
I stepped forward, matching his intensity.
"And you should've known better than to cheat on your wife with your therapist. But here we are."
He froze.
I hit the sore spot on purpose.
"You don't get to judge this," I continued. "Not after what you did. Not after the lies. Not after the humiliation. You lost the right to monitor my life the moment you walked away."
"That doesn't erase the fact that he's my son," he growled.
"And I'm not your wife anymore," I countered. "So what I do and who I love is no longer any of your business."
He looked at me like the ground beneath him had shifted.
Like he was finally realizing none of this was under his control.
"Does he know what he's getting into?" Frank asked quietly, almost defeated. "Does he understand the consequences? The chaos this could bring?"
"Yes," I whispered. "He understands. And he still wants me. Just like I still want him."
He shook his head, almost dazed.
"This is impossible," he whispered. "Absolutely impossible."
"No," I said gently but with steel beneath the softness. "It's happening. Whether you approve or not."
He stared at me for a long moment. Then he said something that sliced clean through the room:
"He'll regret this."
My throat tightened. "Why? Because you want him to?"
He flinched.
I stepped closer.
"Frank… he's not a child. He made a choice. And so did I."
"You're going to ruin his life," he said quietly.
"No," I whispered. "I'm going to be part of it."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Frank turned away, shoulders heavy, breath unsteady.
When he finally looked back at me, something defeated flickered in his eyes.
"This isn't over," he said.
"It is," I replied, "for you."
He hesitated anger, pride, fear warring inside him.
Then he walked past me, opened the door, and left without another word.
The door slammed behind him.
My knees almost gave out.
Because the battle had begun.
And the war wasn't going to be easy.
But Edward and I?
We weren't backing down.