My Son’s Graduation Party Was Perfect Until My Niece Showed Me What He Kept On His Phone
Part 2
Five minutes later, the living room felt like a suffocating box.
Brenda sat on the edge of the armchair.
Heather stood protectively near the corner.
Megan was tucked slightly behind her mother, staring at the floor.
Tyler slouched on the center cushion of the couch.
He looked entirely too comfortable.
He was leaning back with his arms draped over the cushions like he owned the place.
I stood blocking the front door.
I held out Megan’s phone and handed it to Heather.
“Read the texts,” I instructed.
Heather took the phone with trembling fingers.
Her eyes darted back and forth as she read.
Her breath hitched in her throat.
Her face slowly drained of all color.
She looked up at Tyler.
She looked back down at her daughter.
She stared at the phone again.
“These are from your number,” she whispered.
Her voice was barely a croak.
Tyler didn’t flinch.
“Aunt Heather, I promise you,” he said smoothly.
He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees.
“She’s been obsessed with me forever.”
He shook his head in mock sadness.
“She faked this to get attention.”
Heather held the screen up.
“There are photos, Tyler.”
“Photoshopped,” he replied instantly.
He didn’t even blink.
“Deep fakes.”
“You can do anything with AI now.”
Megan finally spoke up.
Her voice was quiet, but it cut through the room.
“Check his phone, then,” she said.
Tyler’s perfect posture suddenly stiffened.
His composure cracked right down the middle.
“This is insane,” he snapped.
He pulled his phone from his pocket and gripped it tightly.
“I’m not giving anyone my phone.”
I stepped away from the door.
“If they’re fake,” I said evenly.
“You’ve got absolutely nothing to hide.”
Tyler stood up abruptly.
“I’m not doing this,” he yelled.
His voice bounced off the walls.
“I’m eighteen.”
“I’m going to Duke.”
He pointed a finger at me.
“You can’t just take my phone, Dad.”
He looked around the room.
He saw Brenda covering her mouth, quietly crying.
He saw Heather holding Megan tight.
He saw me standing firm between him and the exit.
The victim act vanished completely.
His face twisted into something cold and ugly.
“Fine,” he spat.
“You want the truth?”
His voice dropped an octave, dripping with malice.
“She wanted it.”
The words hit the room like a physical blow.
“Every time,” he continued.
“She’d show up at family stuff in those little outfits.”
He scoffed loudly.
“What was I supposed to think?”
Megan let out a gut-wrenching sob.
“I was thirteen,” she cried.
“You knew exactly what you were doing.”
Brenda screamed.
It was a horrible, broken sound of pure devastation.
Tyler looked at his mother with genuine annoyance.
“Mom, relax,” he said.
“This isn’t that serious.”
I closed the distance between us in two strides.
“Get out,” I commanded.
He blinked in surprise.
“Dad, come on.”
“Get out of my house, right now.”
He let out a sharp laugh of sheer disbelief.
“You’re seriously choosing her?” he demanded.
He gestured wildly at Megan.
“She’s not even your kid.”
My hand moved before my brain gave the order.
The slap echoed through the entire house.
I hit him across the jaw, harder than I had ever hit anything.
He lost his footing and crashed onto the hardwood floor with a loud thud.
Someone gasped.
But nobody moved to help him.
Nobody looked shocked.
Tyler scrambled back to his feet, his eyes burning with pure hatred.
He grabbed his car keys from the bowl.
He shoved his shoulder hard against mine as he stormed past me toward the door.
What kind of father kicks his own son to the curb?
