A week of peace.

Then Dad appeared at my hotel door.

"Vivi… Sorry. I wronged you."

Gone was the polished businessman. He looked haggard.

Suit rumpled. Reeked of smoke and booze. Thinning hair nearly gone.

Lily said he'd been jailed days for assault—Ben's leg shattered, multiple fractures.

Old me would've pitied him. Distant father, but funded me.

Not now. After he cursed Mom? Never.

"Disownment papers are filed. We have no legal relationship."

"I was manipulated—"

"You were a willing participant. Sophia didn't hold a gun to your head when you called Mom a 'trashy bitch.' She didn't force you to burn Mom's photos."

He flinched.

"She didn't make you call my boyfriend and tell him I had an STD."

"Vivi, please—"

"You chose to believe her over your own daughter. For years. Not once did you verify a single claim. Not the money, not the bar fights, not the hospital visits. Because it was easier to believe I was the problem."

He slid down the doorframe. His expensive shoes scraped against the floor.

"I lost everything. Sophia drained the accounts. Ben transferred company shares. The board voted me out."

"So you're here because you're broke. Not because you're sorry."

"That's not—"

"Isn't it?" I crouched to his eye level. "If Sophia hadn't been exposed, if you still had your money and your fake baby, would you be at my door right now?"

Silence.

That silence told me everything.

"Go home, Adam. Or whatever's left of it."

I closed the door.

Through the wood, I heard him whisper: "I'm sorry about your mother."

Too little. Too late. Too broken to fix.

I put in my earbuds and played Mom's favorite song.

And let him sit in the hallway until he was ready to leave.