“Don’t,” I spit out with a downward slash of my hand. “Do not call me ‘son.’ I’m not your son. I’m not your anything. Clearly. Enjoy your life,” I say. “And every day when you wake up in your cell alone, with no wife or kids or congregation or friends, I hope you remember that it’s because I loved you enough to come after you. Because I showed up when you needed me most.”

I pull a piece of paper out of my pocket and slap it on the table. “I brought you something. I wanted to tell you that even though I stopped going to church because of you, I didn’t stop believing in God. You didn’t steal my belief. A long, long time ago, I wanted to be you. I wanted to be a pastor, and then you ripped that away from me and made it disgusting.

“A few weeks ago, someone reached out to me and wanted to talk about what happened. They wanted my side of the story, for once. Unfiltered. I was going to turn them down, but you happened. Again. And I nearly died. So instead, I gave them all the gory details. I wanted something good to come out of the ashes of our relationship. As of this morning, I’ve gotten over three hundred emails from other pastors’ kids and hurting Christians, thanking me for telling my truth. So.” I smile sardonically. “I guess it wasn’t all for nothing. It was for me and”—I tap the printed article in front of him—“it was for them.”

With that, I leave. I tell the guards, “You can have him. I’m done.”

“One down,” I mutter, pulling up to James’s house. “One to go.” Meg is at work for at least two more hours, so after I finished at the county jail, I dropped off Duke and texted James, asking if we could meet.

My knock on his door is sharp, and he opens it right away, looking grim. He gestures for me to sit, and I shake my head.

“No, thank you.”

James sighs. “Micah, I didn’t have a choice. The church has very clear rules.”

“Bullshit,” I say bluntly. “James, how many times have you stayed at Dani’s until late in the evening?”

James opens his mouth, but I don’t let him speak.

“How many times has Dani been here in the mornings?”

“She’s never stayed the night,” he says defensively.

“You know that doesn’t matter. Dani is a divorcée with a little girl. Tell me that there’s not some rule in the outdated church bylaws about that?”

“That’s not what this is about, and I don’t like your tone.”

“But it is! James! Are you serious right now? My tone? You straight-up slut-shamed the girl I love! Who’s your family, by the way.”