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“No. It’s about Collin.”

“I take care of him!”

“Then why are you so mad the court made it official?”

He didn’t say anything.

Exactly.

I stepped closer.

“I don’t give a fuck if I make ten thousand dollars tonight at Freckles. That’s still your son.”

“I know that’s my son.”

“Then act like it.”

“I do.”

“When it’s convenient.”

His jaw flexed.

“And don’t worry,” I added. “You don’t have to Cash App me. You don’t gotta ask if I need anything. You don’t even have to remember what day it is. They’ll take it out your check.”

“That shit funny to you?”

“No.”

I looked him up and down.

“What’s funny is you spent three years telling me you was gonna leave Sam and build a life with me and Collin, but a hundred and sixty-eight dollars a week got you ready to fight the State of New Jersey.”

“Man, fuck you, Heather.”

“There he is.”

I started walking.

“Heather.”

I kept going.

“Yo!”

I stopped and looked back.

For a second, he just stood there.

Then he asked, “Collin good?”

And despite everything, that softened something tiny in me.

Not enough to forgive him.

Not enough to want him.

But enough to answer.