“I’m asking whether there is room for me here.”
I looked toward the kitchen.
Three lunchboxes waited on the counter.
Permission slips lay beside the sink.
Carys had a fever.
Liora needed help with a project.
Maisie had fallen asleep on the couch after arguing with me.
“There isn’t,” I said.
Seraphine’s face changed.
“Not the kind of room you deserve.”
She nodded slowly.
“I thought that might be your answer.”
She left a green sweater behind.
I never returned it.
I stayed with the girls.
Not because they demanded it.
Because someone had to.
Callan appeared in fragments.
A birthday card arrived once without a return address.
Then a winter card with a stamp from a place I did not recognize.
He never included money.
Never asked whether the girls were healthy.
Never asked whether they remembered him.
When the triplets were twelve, he called.
I answered the shop telephone.
“Reid?”
I recognized his voice even after all those years.
“Where are you?”
“That’s complicated.”
“No, it isn’t. You are wherever you chose to be.”
He sighed.
“I want to reconnect.”
“With whom?”
“My daughters.”
My hand tightened around the receiver.
“They have names.”
“I know their names.”
“Say them.”
Silence.
“Callan, say their names.”
“I want to be their father.”
“You want to be their father?”
“I’ve been thinking.”
