Chapter 2: What My Father Kept
Part 2 — continued in comments ⬇️
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Paul was already on his feet, weaving through tables toward the DJ booth.
I grabbed his arm.
"Paul.
What is that?"
He wouldn't look at me.
"It's nothing.
Your father is overreacting."
"To what?"
He pulled free and kept moving.
My father didn't step aside.
He just stood there, calm, one hand resting on the DJ's table like he had all the time in the world.
"Sit down, Paul," he said quietly.
"You have no right—"
"I have every right." Dad's voice didn't rise.
"She's my daughter."
The room had gone still.
Two hundred people watching, glasses halfway to their mouths.
Paul lowered his voice to something close to a hiss.
"If you play that, I will never forgive you."
My father looked at him for a long moment.
"That's fine," he said.
"I'm not asking for your forgiveness."
Then he nodded at the DJ.
I still didn't know what it was — a recording, a video, something on a USB drive.
But whatever my father had been holding onto all evening, he had been waiting for exactly this moment to use it.
Amanda had gone very quiet on the other side of the room.
She wasn't smiling anymore.
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What my father played next made half the room gasp — and made Amanda stand up to leave.
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What Paul had been hiding is worse than anyone at that wedding knew.
