Michael's POV
I studied my son across the restaurant table, noting the tension in Reagan's shoulders despite his claims of business success. He had been talking enthusiastically about his restaurant's performance, but something felt off.
"If the restaurant is thriving like you claim, why do you look like someone who just lost everything?" I asked, my voice cutting through his forced cheerfulness.
Reagan's confident facade crumbled instantly. He mumbled something incoherent, his gaze dropping to his untouched drink.
I leaned back in my chair, pieces falling into place. "She hasn't forgiven you, has she?"
The shame that washed over Reagan's face confirmed my suspicion. My son nodded slowly, looking younger than his years.
"She won't answer my calls. She blocks my messages. I've done everything you suggested, but she shuts me out completely. Dad, I don't know what else to try."
