Agree to talk with Kyler as she flings your porn history at you (piss off Kyler by not helping her with the security guard)

The word hangs in the sterile silence of the kitchen. Just us. You nod, not trusting your voice. You take a long swallow of coffee, the bitter liquid scraping down your throat. Ava is wiping down the counter, her movements slow, deliberate. She doesn't look at either of you.

"In the living room," Kyler says, turning and walking away.

You follow, your footsteps heavy on the floor. You sit in your armchair, the leather sighing under your weight, worn smooth by years of your body. Kyler perches on the edge of the sofa, opposite you. She doesn't meet your eyes at first, focusing instead on her own hands, which are twisting a loose thread on a throw pillow.

Finally, she looks up. Her eyes are clear, hard. "You were on the computer last night."

Your stomach drops. The world tilts on its axis. Your blood turns to ice water. "I... I couldn't sleep."

"The history's not erased, Dad," she says, her voice flat. "I saw it. I saw it all. Pathetic." She leans forward, her hands now gripping the pillow like a lifeline. "But that wasn't the first time, was it? I saw the other stuff. Before. The videos. The websites." A bitter, humorless laugh escapes her lips. "All of it. All the slutty, tight-body OnlyFans girls you jerk off to while mom sleeps in the next room. And cheating on her. I thought you was a better man than that."

The shame is a physical weight, crushing your chest. You can't breathe. You open your mouth, but no words come out. There's nothing to say. Caught. Exposed. The filth you'd kept locked in the dark is now sprawled out on the living room carpet under the morning sun.

"What's wrong, John? Cat got your tongue?" Her voice trembles with a mix of fury and something else, a deep, bottomless hurt. "You want to know how I got away? In that store? The security guard took me to that little room in the back. The one with the metal shelves and the single, naked bulb."

You stare at her, horrified. "Come on. It was better for you to figure..."

She cut you off. "He was a big guy. Smelled like stale cigarettes and coffee. He said I could go to the police, or... we could work something out." Her eyes finally lock onto yours, and the fury in them is a blaze. "He made me get on my knees. Right there on the dirty floor. Unzipped his pants. You caused it by not being a good father."

Your world shatters. The image sears itself into your brain, your daughter, your good girl, on a grimy floor, violated. Your own sordid, late-night escapade flickers in your mind.

"And where were you?" Her voice cracks, the armor breaking for a second, revealing the raw pain beneath. "Where were you when I was calling? Texting? When I needed my dad? You were too busy chasing your own pathetic little fantasies to notice your daughter was falling apart. You're not just a cheater. You're a failure as a father."

She stands up, the pillow dropping to the floor. She's trembling all over. "You preach to me about responsibility and being a good person, and all this time, this is who you are. A liar. A hypocrite. I'm disgusted by you."

"So are you going to tell mom?" You weakly ask.

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