Not the two-hundred-dollar model.
A more advanced one that Felix could grow into, with a stable mount, clear optics, and an adapter for photographing the moon.
It cost more than I planned.
I paid for overnight shipping.
After sending the legal email, I went to Felix’s room.
He had fallen asleep in his clothes, one hand tucked beneath his cheek.
I removed his shoes, pulled the blanket over him, and lay beside him until his breathing became deep and even.
The next morning, Victor called at 9:15.
I answered from my office.
“What did you do to the card?” he demanded.
“Merry Christmas, Dad.”
“My truck transmission failed. The repair shop wants seventy-five hundred dollars, and the emergency card was declined.”
“The account is closed.”
“You need to call them and fix it.”
“No.”
Silence followed.
Then his voice rose.
“You are leaving your father stranded over a child’s toy?”
“It was never about the telescope.”
“It was a harmless oversight.”
“You used my account to purchase the gifts.”
“That money was going to family.”
“It was going everywhere except to my son.”
“We were going to give him cash later.”
“He is seven.”
“Then buy him something yourself.”
“I did.”
“Good. Problem solved.”
“No. The telescope problem is solved. The family problem is not.”
Victor’s breathing became heavier.
“You owe me respect.”
“I have given you money, time, excuses, and silence. You mistook all four for obedience.”
“Cameron can’t cover this repair.”
“That sounds like a conversation between you and Cameron.”
“He has children.”
“So do I.”
“You make more money.”
“That does not make every family expense mine.”
His voice changed then, moving from command to pleading.
“We need the truck.”
“I needed you to protect your grandson for thirty seconds.”
“Julian—”
“I’m done funding people who make my child feel unwanted.”
I ended the call.
For several weeks, the silence in our home felt unfamiliar.
No emergency requests.
No messages from Sylvia about family appearances.
No calls from Cameron asking me to invest in another idea.
Felix and I assembled the telescope together.
The first clear night, we carried it onto the back deck. Snow covered the yard, and our breath appeared beneath the porch light.