She Called Me the Driver

Katherine chased me into the parking lot and grabbed the car door to stop me. "Who gave you permission to change Milo's school enrollment?"

Her heels clicked sharply against the pavement. She still wore her badge from the open house, and the sticker that marked the family photo area remained stuck to her clothes.

Gabriel followed close behind with my son's jacket in his hand. "Micah, let's talk about this at home. He's just a child. Scaring Kate with a transfer will only put Milo in a difficult position."

He spoke as though he were the reasonable one, as if he hadn't just stood in the display area and accepted everyone's congratulations.

I looked at Katherine. "The new school has already approved the transfer. He starts next Monday."

Katherine raised her voice. "I asked who gave you permission to do this!"

"I'm his father. I don't need an outsider's approval."

Gabriel's smile faded slightly. "Micah, I know it bothered you to see me onstage with Milo. The school asked for a complete family at the last minute.

"Kate was worried you wouldn't feel comfortable speaking in front of everyone, so she asked me to help. If you want to blame someone, blame me. Don't take it out on the kid."

This was the eighth time.

Every time, they had an excuse that sounded perfectly reasonable. The parent-child sports day needed someone athletic. The children's play needed a father who could play the piano. The family interview needed a parent who understood business management.

Meanwhile, I handled the school pickups and drop-offs, cooked the meals, and helped with homework. I even made sure to stay out of the camera's view whenever the three of them received praise as a family.

Katherine gave me an impatient look. "Gabby is giving you a way out. Go find the principal and withdraw the paperwork. Do that, and I'll pretend today never happened."

I opened the car door and retrieved my folder from the passenger seat. "Keep the car. You two look more like a family today anyway."

Katherine kept a hand on the open car door. "Micah, haven't you caused enough trouble? What kind of future could Milo possibly have in a small town like your hometown? How would you even support him?"

She had probably forgotten that three years ago, when her company was on the verge of collapse, I was the one who gave her the formula that made her first product possible. That was also when she decided I could never leave this family.

Footsteps approached from the auditorium.

Katherine's mother, Nera Viston, came toward us with Milo's hand in hers.

Milo removed his little top hat and stared at me.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Nera pulled him behind her. "Micah, haven't you embarrassed yourself enough for one day?

"Kate runs a company. Half the parents in that group chat know who she is. You made a scene at the event. How is she supposed to face anyone now?"

I turned to Milo. "Do you want to come home with Dad?"

Milo glanced at Katherine, then at the certificate in Gabriel's hand.

"Gabby promised to take him out to eat today," Nera answered for him. "Go home and think about what you've done. You can come back for him tonight."

Milo lowered his head and didn't look at me again.

I called a taxi. Once I got in, my phone buzzed with a social media notification.

Katherine had posted the photo from earlier. She stood in the middle, with Gabriel beside her and Milo's hand in his.

The caption contained only three words: [A perfect day.]

The comments below were full of messages from company employees and other parents. Someone remarked on how much Milo resembled his father.

Katherine replied with a smiley face.

I took a screenshot and forwarded it to my lawyer. Then I sent him another message.

[Add this to the custody filing.]

Katherine called almost immediately. I declined the call without answering.

…

Half an hour later, I arrived home.

Two unfamiliar suitcases stood in the entryway. The basement door was open.

I went downstairs and found Gabriel's suit jacket draped over my lab rack. My research notes, the product of three years of work, lay scattered across the floor.