But he nodded.
“Okay.”
Not forgiveness.
Recognition.
He had asked for truth.
I gave it.
Ethan asked:
“Do you regret Noah?”
“No.”
He seemed surprised.
“I regret missing you.”
“I regret what I did to Claire.”
“But loving Noah is not something I regret.”
Leo said, “Good.”
“Why?”
“Because he seems decent.”
He was.
Over the next year, that strange web of relationships changed slowly.
Leo and Ethan allowed me one meeting a month.
Then sometimes two.
I attended a robotics exhibition.
A school debate.
Leo’s first public research presentation.
Ethan’s terrible attempt at driving practice.
I learned Leo disliked tomatoes.
Ethan loved old detective movies.
Both hated being compared to each other.
Both called Claire when they were stressed.
Neither called me Dad.
I stopped waiting for it.
Claire and I developed something more difficult than reconciliation.
Respectful communication.
She did not forgive me simply because Vanessa had lied.
I once tried to explain that Vanessa had hidden the truth from me.
Claire interrupted.
“She hid the boys after you had already abandoned them.”
That ended every excuse.
Vanessa was responsible for her lie.
I was responsible for making the lie so convenient to believe.
One afternoon, almost a year after the tournament, Claire and I sat outside a school building while Leo and Ethan attended a workshop.
I said:
“I’m sorry.”
