I looked at my son more closely.
For the first time, I imagined features moving backward through generations.
Not destiny.
Just traces.
A brow.
A mouth.
A familiar tilt of the head.
Proof that people could be gone and still leave something gentle behind.
“Why did Logan hide this from me?”
Robert’s expression saddened.
“You should ask him.”
“I’m asking you.”
“I think he believed that if you knew how complicated his family was, you would look at him differently.”
“I would have.”
Robert raised an eyebrow.
“I would have understood him better.”
“That,” he said, “is exactly what he was afraid of.”
I almost laughed.
“Your family has a terrible habit of deciding what other people can handle.”
“Yes.”
At least he had the decency not to argue.
Robert stood.
“I should let you rest.”
“Will you call him?”
He stopped.
I surprised myself with the question.
