He hadn't expected me to go there. I watched the memory surface—our promise, the one he'd made—and guilt flickered across his face before he could hide it.
Three years dating. Five years married.
I knew that look.
I'd thought he was just a disappointing husband. Now I realized he'd failed as a father too.
Maybe the contempt in my eyes was too obvious. He knew he was in the wrong, but he still fumbled for an excuse.
"I was… busy when she first came out. I held her later."
"Busy?"
I stared at him. Then at Charity, poised beside him like a guard dog ready to leap to his defense.
My voice dropped, edged with something cold and mocking.
"Busy showing her footage of me at my most vulnerable. Too busy to hold your own daughter."
"Brendan. Who gave you permission to send her that video?"
The room went so quiet I could hear the fluorescent lights humming.
Brendan pressed his lips together, visibly calculating his next words.
But Charity—watching him flounder—let out an impatient little huff.
"I asked him to film it for me, sis."
She met my gaze and lifted her chin, defiant.