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Nathan actually laughed.
Emily hated how strongly the sound affected her.
The boys came closer with caution.
Nathan knelt down.
“I brought dinosaur books.”
Both boys gasped dramatically.
Emily folded her arms.
“You’re bribing them already?”
Nathan looked up at her.
“No. I’m trying to meet my sons.”
The honesty in his voice softened her slightly despite herself.
The boys tore into the bags with excitement.
Within seconds, they were sitting on the porch floor, turning bright pages.
Nathan watched them like he was witnessing something sacred.
Emily noticed the faint tremor in his hands.
“They love books,” she admitted quietly.
“I remember.”
The sentence startled her.
Nathan looked toward the sea.
“You used to read every night before bed.”
Emily quickly looked away.
Dangerous ground.
Nostalgia could tear down boundaries too quickly.
Nathan stayed quiet for a while, simply watching the twins.
Then at last:
“They call each other E and Eli.”
Emily blinked.
“How did you know that?”
“Elliot called him E at the hotel.”
Of course he had noticed.
Nathan had always noticed details.
Just not emotional ones.
Or at least, not before.
Eventually, the boys drifted toward the shoreline, chasing crabs between the rocks.
Nathan and Emily remained alone on the porch.
The tension thickened at once.
Nathan spoke first.
“I know I don’t deserve forgiveness.”
Emily said nothing.
“I know disappearing was your way of surviving me.”
That hurt because it was true.
Nathan released a slow breath.
“But I want to know them.”
Emily looked toward the boys.
“They’re good kids.”
“I can see that.”
“They’ve never gone to sleep wondering whether they mattered.”
Nathan visibly flinched.
Emily continued softly.
“I worked very hard to make sure of that.”
Guilt washed across his face.
“I would never hurt them.”
“I know.”
Nathan looked surprised.
Emily met his eyes steadily.
“You hurt me because you stopped valuing us. Not because you’re cruel.”
The distinction seemed to devastate him more.
Because cruelty suggested intent.
What Nathan had done was somehow worse.
Carelessness.
Neglect.
A slow emotional abandonment.
“I was selfish,” he admitted.
“Yes.”
“And arrogant.”
“Yes.”
“And I thought success excused everything.”
Emily finally looked at him fully.
“And now?”
Nathan’s voice dropped.
“Now I’d trade every hotel I own for one more year with my family.”
Silence stretched between them.
Nearby, the ocean waves broke softly.
Then Ethan suddenly shouted:
“Mommy! Daddy fish!”
The word struck both adults immediately.
Daddy.
Nathan’s eyes widened.
Emily turned sharply.
But the boy was not speaking about him.
He was pointing excitedly at a large fish near the dock.
Still…
The accidental word stayed heavy in the air.
Nathan looked away first.
—
In the months that followed, something delicate began to take shape.
Not reconciliation.
Not yet.
Something smaller.
Cautious.
Nathan began coming to Maine every other weekend.
At first, the boys saw him as a fascinating adult who brought books and listened closely.
Then slowly, attachment began to grow.
Nathan went to preschool events.
Built blanket forts.
Learned their bedtime routines.
Memorized their favorite snacks.
And every new experience carried a brutal grief with it.