“I hope to see you more often when I’m allowed.

Your mom and I will make a plan that keeps you safe.”

She considered that with grave seriousness, then asked whether I had a birthday cake where I lived.

I laughed. “Sometimes.”

“Good,” she said.

“Everybody needs cake.”

After the visit, I sat alone for a long time.

I had given up the notion that one day my child would hear only a triumphant story about the man I had been.