Chương 4
The sentence stayed between us.
Because I could not deny it.
Five years ago, I had been so focused on escaping the marriage that I never considered she might separate herself from me.
I never considered that leaving her could feel like leaving everyone connected to her.
"I should have known," I whispered.
Samantha shook her head.
"No."
I looked at her.
"Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Make it easier for me."
Her expression softened slightly.
"It wasn't only you, Ethan."
I frowned.
"My mother told me not to contact you."
The words landed slowly.
I stared at her.
"Why?"
Samantha looked uncomfortable.
"She said you were rebuilding your life."
"That wasn't her decision."
"No."
She looked at her coffee.
"But she made it anyway."
I stood up.
The anger returned.
Not the explosive kind.
Something colder.
Something more dangerous.
"My mother stole five years from me."
Samantha watched me carefully.
"She made a terrible choice."
"You sound like you're defending her."
"I'm not."
"Then why are you calm?"
She looked up.
"Because anger does not give me back those years."
I had no response.
A small sound came from the hallway.
Both of us turned.
The boy from the airport stood there holding a toy truck.
He looked at me with the same serious expression he had yesterday.
"This is Noah," Samantha said.
The girl appeared behind him.
"And this is Lily."
My throat tightened.
Five years of missing birthdays.
Five years of first words.
Five years of ordinary mornings.
They were standing three feet away.
And they had no idea who I was.
Noah looked at me.
"Are you Mommy's friend?"
The question was simple.
It was also the hardest question anyone had ever asked me.
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
No sentence felt big enough or honest enough for a child who had no reason to understand the damage adults had caused.
Samantha watched me carefully.
I could see the answer forming in her eyes before I spoke.
She was waiting to see what kind of man I would be.
Not the man I had been five years ago.
Not the man who had walked away.
This man.
Right now.
"I'm your mom's old friend," I finally said.
Noah looked disappointed.
"Old?"
A small smile appeared on Samantha's face before she tried to hide it.
"That means someone she knew a long time ago."
Noah nodded as if that explanation made perfect sense.
Children had a way of accepting simple answers because they had not yet learned how complicated adults could make everything.
Lily walked closer.
She held the stuffed rabbit against her chest.
"Are you staying for dinner?"
The question caught me off guard.
Samantha looked uncomfortable.
"Lily."
"What?"
The little girl shrugged.
"We have extra pasta."
I looked at Samantha.
For a second, neither of us knew what to do.
Then she sighed.
"Only if Ethan wants to."
I wanted to say yes immediately.
The selfish part of me wanted to sit at that table and pretend I had always belonged there.
But I knew better.
"I would like that."
Dinner was simple.
That somehow made it harder.
There was no dramatic conversation.
No angry confrontation.
Just four plates on a small table.
Noah complaining that vegetables tasted different depending on how they were cut.
Lily asking why grown-ups drank coffee if it made them nervous.
Samantha laughing quietly when she realized she had forgotten to buy more juice.
Normal life.
The kind of life I had not known existed.
I watched Samantha move around the kitchen.
She knew exactly where everything was.
She knew which cabinet stuck when opened.
She knew which chair Noah preferred.
She knew that Lily hated the crusts on bread.
Those small things hurt more than any accusation.
Because they proved time had continued without me.
After dinner, Noah showed me his toy truck collection.
He explained each one with complete seriousness.
"This one is broken, but I still like it."
I looked at the truck missing a wheel.
"Why keep it?"
He shrugged.
"Because I remember when it worked."
The answer was innocent.
But it stayed with me.
Samantha noticed my expression.
She looked away.
Later, after the children were asleep, we sat quietly in the living room.
The apartment sounded different at night.
The refrigerator hummed.
A car passed outside.
Somewhere upstairs, someone dropped something heavy and apologized loudly.
A normal building.
A normal night.
A life I had never seen.
"Do they know about me?" I asked.
Samantha shook her head.
"No."
"What do they know?"
She folded a blanket that was already folded.
"They know their father lives far away."
My chest tightened.
"That's what you told them?"
"It's what I knew."
I looked at her.
She met my eyes.
"At the time, you were far away."
The truth hurt because it was simple.
"When will you tell them?"
Samantha looked toward the hallway.
"I don't know."
The answer surprised me.
"You don't know?"
"No."
"Why?"
She took a breath.
"Because a father is not just a word."
I stayed quiet.
"It is easy to tell a child someone is their father."
Her fingers tightened around the blanket.
"It's harder to explain why that person was not there."
I looked down.
The guilt was almost physical.
"I want to be there now."
Samantha nodded slowly.
"I believe you."
The way she said it bothered me.
"You don't sound convinced."
"I'm convinced you want to."
She paused.
"But wanting something and being ready for it are different."
I hated that she was right.
I hated that every time she spoke, she found the place where I had been avoiding myself.
"What do you need from me?"
She looked surprised.
Maybe because she expected anger.
Maybe because I had spent so long being defensive that she forgot I could ask instead of demand.
"I need you to be patient."
I nodded.
"I can do that."
"No."
May you like
She shook her head.
"You think patience means waiting until things become comfortable."
