“If there’s no love left, let it go. Better to part on good terms.”
But the next second, Mrs. Parker snatched the phone, her voice shrill and piercing:
“Will! If you’re a real man, don’t sabotage the IPO! That patent must stay with Emily—it’s her life! You can’t burn the bridge after crossing it!”
The words burn the bridge pounded in my head like a nail.
Clenching the phone, I spoke slowly:
“Mrs. Parker, Emily’s life was saved by my bone marrow. The patent is mine. You know very well who’s burning bridges here. This call is just to inform you.”
I hung up, opened the door with my suitcase, and froze.
A familiar black sedan was parked outside. My father, Richard Johnson, and my younger brother, Kevin Johnson, stood beside it. Kevin turned away awkwardly, while Richard’s face was like thunder.
The moment he saw me, he barked:
“Who told you to divorce Emily Parker?”
The suitcase wheels thudded against the steps. Before I could answer, his accusations rained down like hailstones, shattering two years of missed family longing in an instant.
My grip on the handle tightened. My voice dropped low:
“So you both already know?”
“So what if we do?” Richard stepped forward, jabbing a finger at my nose.