Something more complicated.
I understood suddenly what they saw.
The father who had never known their birthdays knew exactly how to comfort another boy.
There was no explanation that could make that painless.
When Noah pulled away, I looked at Claire.
“I want to talk.”
She said, “We are talking.”
“Alone.”
“No.”
I glanced at Leo and Ethan.
Claire said, “Anything about them can be said in front of them.”
She had earned that boundary.
I nodded.
“I want to know everything.”
Leo’s expression hardened.
Claire said, “That is not something you get in one afternoon.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
She studied me.
I continued.
“I want to know when they were born.”
“August eighteenth.”
My chest tightened.
Today was August eighteenth.
The tournament was being held on their fifteenth birthday.
I looked at the boys.
“Today?”
Ethan nodded.
“You’re fifteen today?”
“Yes.”
I laughed once because otherwise I would have cried harder.
“Happy birthday.”
Leo said, “Thanks.”
It was painfully polite.
I asked, “Which one is older?”
Ethan pointed at Leo.
“Four minutes.”
Leo said, “Four important minutes.”
Claire smiled.
Something about that smile nearly destroyed me.
A family history existed without me.
Private jokes.
Birthdays.
Illnesses.
School mornings.
First steps.
Broken bones.
Arguments.
Everything.
I had missed all of it.
I looked at Claire.
“Did you ever tell them I didn’t care?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t know what was in your head.”
“You could have.”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
“I could also have told them you were a monster.”
Leo looked at her.
Claire continued.
“But children deserve facts before they inherit adult bitterness.”
That sentence stayed with me.
I asked, “Can I see them again?”
Claire did not answer.
She looked at the boys.
Leo and Ethan exchanged a glance.
