Then again.
A licensing worker inspected cabinets, smoke detectors, bedroom windows, cleaning supplies, and the hot water temperature. Nathan answered questions with nervous honesty. He had no experience parenting. He worked long hours but had already spoken to his employer about a modified schedule. He had one speeding ticket from four years ago. He burned toast often. He knew how to fix almost anything mechanical but admitted he had no idea how to braid hair.
Lily overheard that last part during a supervised home visit.
“I
can teach you,” she said.
Nathan looked down at her. “You can?”
She nodded seriously. “But you have to listen.”
“I can listen.”
Owen, from the floor, pushed his wooden truck under a chair. “He also has to learn pancakes.”
“I make pancakes,” Nathan said.
“With blueberries on top?” Owen asked.
Nathan hesitated.
Owen sighed. “We have a lot of work.”
The house visits became small chapters of discovery.
Lily found a box of Evan’s old things in Nathan’s closet—baseball cards, school photos, a science fair ribbon, a postcard from a camping trip. She held each object like a clue.
“Daddy had glasses?” she asked, staring at a photo of twelve-year-old Evan smiling awkwardly with oversized frames.
Nathan smiled. “For one year. He hated them.”
“Why?”
“Said they made him look like a worried owl.”
Lily giggled. “He did look like a worried owl.”
Owen found a dent in the
garage wall and demanded its history.
Nathan scratched his jaw. “Your dad threw a tennis ball in here after I told him not to.”
“Daddy was bad?” Owen asked, thrilled.
“He was human,” Nathan said. “And I was mad for about six minutes. Then he fixed it badly, and I was mad again.”
“Where is the bad fixing?”
Nathan pointed to a patch of uneven paint.
Owen touched it with awe. “Daddy made that?”
“Yep.”
Owen looked at the wall like it was a museum exhibit.
The children were not simply meeting Nathan.
They were meeting their father through him.
That mattered.
I saw it, and though it hurt, it also steadied me.
My visits continued too, though they changed. Sometimes I met them at the agency. Sometimes Dr. Patel included me in therapy sessions when the children asked. Once, with permission from everyone, we met at a park.
It
was the first time I saw Lily run.
Really run.
Not hurry because someone told her to.
Not move quickly to avoid being scolded.
Run.
Her curls bounced behind her as she chased Owen across the grass, both of them shrieking with laughter while Nathan pretended to be too slow to catch them.
Marco stood beside me near a bench, holding a paper bag of sandwiches.
“You’re smiling,” he said.
“No, I’m not.”
