“Stop what?” his Turkish had improved since the last time she’d seen him. When was the last time she’d seen him. Three months? Five?
“You just want me to feel sorry for you,” her voice faltered.
Beckett stared down at her. “I want you to hear it,”
“Hear what?”
“My heart,” he whispered. “I want you to know I have one.”
“I never said you didn’t.” she looked up at him. “You need to be a father-”
“I know what I need to be,” his voice was sharp. “That’s why...” The divorce papers slid in Mirah’s hold as he backed away. “...you will sign this.” there was a subtle silence. “I will give you the money. I won’t do this anymore.”