The same people who had rushed to pity him began messaging me privately, awkward and eager to reposition themselves on the right side of the truth. I responded to almost none of them. I had no appetite for people whose loyalty blew in whichever direction screenshots last pointed.
For the first time since the text, I exhaled.
Not because it was over. Ethan was not the sort of man who recognized when he had lost. But because I had seen his preferred terrain—public perception—and turned it against him with his own words.
I should have known desperation would only make him sloppier.
First came the phone calls from his father.
Not Victor—Ethan’s father was named Warren, and if Margaret specialized in emotional warfare with a social polish on top, Warren preferred volume. He had spent decades sounding aggrieved in the voice of a man convinced his gender and age ought to exempt him from consequences. He left a voicemail for my boss claiming I was harassing Ethan, stalking him, threatening his new wife, and creating an unsafe environment for their family. I found out because my boss, Naomi, called me into her office the next morning.