"Dylan, look what I got for you!" Duncan announced enthusiastically as he stepped into the room, Monica trailing behind him.
But Dylan, completely engrossed in his new laptop, didn’t even glance up. It was as if Duncan’s voice hadn’t even registered.
Cammy, however, imdiately zeroed in on her mother. Her expression darkened with suspicion. "Why are you two together?"
Monica waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, it’s nothing. We just happened to arrive at the sa ti. t in the lobby while waiting for the elevator," she explained casually before sothing else caught her attention. Her nose twitched as she inhaled deeply, and her eyes lit up when she spotted the table full of food. "Mmm, what is that delicious sll?"
"It’s from Ricardo," Ethan replied, noting Monica’s interest. "I believe you’ve t him already. He called earlier and asked to pick these up from one of his restaurants."
Monica’s lips curled into an approving smile as she grabbed a plate. "Well, what a thoughtful man," she remarked, helping herself to the feast without a second thought.
"Dylan, didn’t you hear ?" Duncan repeated, his voice carrying a hint of impatience. "I said I got you sothing."
But Dylan remained completely absorbed in his laptop, oblivious to his father’s words.
Greg, noticing the tension, gently patted Dylan’s shoulder to get his attention before stepping away from the hospital bed, and making space for Duncan. Only then did Dylan finally look up.
"Huh?" he murmured absentmindedly.
Duncan quickly handed him a box, his face bright with anticipation. Dylan took it eagerly and tore it open. "Wow, you got a gift!" he exclaid.
But just as quickly as his excitent flared, it dimd. His small hands stilled, his smile fading as he stared at the soccer ball inside.
Duncan imdiately caught the change in his expression. "What’s wrong? Don’t you like it? You told you wanted a new soccer ball," he asked, puzzled.
Dylan hesitated before gently placing the ball back into the box. "I do... but I told you not to get this one," he admitted. "Mommy already bought this exact ball last week. I asked for the yellow one so it wouldn’t be the sa."
"Oh," Duncan said, clearly taken aback. Recovering quickly, he forced a reassuring smile. "No problem, buddy. I’ll exchange it or get you the yellow one instead. How about that?"
Dylan gave a small nod before subtly nudging the box aside. His gaze wandered past Duncan, searching for Greg. He spotted him by the table, deliberately keeping his distance, casually serving himself food to avoid any unnecessary confrontation.
Over the weekend, Cammy had laid down one firm rule—no fighting in front of Dylan. If they wanted to visit him, they had to leave their animosities at the door. So far, they had all played by the rules. But for how long?
"Uncle Greg, can you help log in to my Scratch account? The firewall is blocking it, and it says I need administrator permission," Dylan called out, his brows furrowed in frustration.
Greg imdiately set down his plate and walked over without hesitation. Duncan, standing by the bed, had no choice but to step aside as Greg took over.
Ethan, observing the scene unfold, nudged Cammy lightly. Together, they watched as Greg effortlessly assisted Dylan, the boy laughing and chatting with him as if Duncan wasn’t even in the room.
anwhile, Duncan’s expression darkened. His jaw tightened, his hands curled into fists at his sides. The sight of another man stepping in so naturally, effortlessly taking his place, was clearly eating him alive.
Ethan leaned in closer to Cammy and murmured, "You might want to step in before things get ugly."
CSensing the tension thickening in the room, Cammy quickly grabbed the plate she had prepared for Dylan and walked over to his side, determined to break the uneasy silence.
"I think that can wait. Eat your lunch first before it gets cold," she said gently, setting up the over-bed table in front of him.
Dylan, without hesitation, placed his laptop aside, obediently shifting his focus to the food.
Greg imdiately caught Cammy’s subtle cue. Without a word, he stepped away, returning to the table where the others were gathered, resuming his al as if nothing had happened.
Duncan stepped closer, his voice low and filled with tension as he leaned forward and whispered to Cammy, "He shouldn’t be here. And that laptop—is it from him?"
Cammy exhaled sharply, already weary of this conversation. "Duncan, we’ve been over this. Know your place. If you’re so jealous of material things, maybe you should’ve been the one to buy Dylan a laptop instead of sulking over it."
Duncan’s jaw clenched. "I’m not jealous," he stated, his voice controlled but brimming with suppressed anger. "He’s using Dylan as an excuse to stay close to you, and you’re letting him."
Cammy turned to him, her eyes burning with fury. "Maybe I am," she shot back. "So next ti, get your facts straight—and while you’re at it, maybe buy the right thing for your own son! Then, just maybe, he’ll be impressed with you. Maybe he’ll actually look up to you for once!"
With her blood boiling, Cammy didn’t wait for Duncan’s response. She turned on her heel and strode toward the table where the others were gathered, forcing herself to calm down.
Greg imdiately noticed the color rising in her cheeks and the way her fists clenched at her sides. He reached out, placing a reassuring hand on her back, gently caressing it. "Are you okay? What happened?"
Cammy took a deep breath, willing herself to sound unaffected. "Yes, everything’s f—MY GOD, DUNCAN!"
A loud crash cut her off. Her heart lurched as she turned just in ti to see Greg staggering back, then collapsing onto the floor.
Duncan stood over him, fists clenched, his chest heaving with rage. His grip tightened around Greg’s collar, ready to strike again.
A scream tore from Cammy’s throat. "STOP IT!"
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