I remembered the frozen dinner I’d eaten alone while he stayed late at work, the prenatal appointment he’d called unnecessary, the way he’d said I was lucky he was willing to support my little freelance projects.

“No,” I said.

“You were trying to decide what this meant for you.”

Vance looked away.

He didn’t deny it.

When the meeting ended, he asked if Oliver had my eyes.

I told him our son was healthy enough to be home and that any relationship would have to begin with respect and consistency, not demands.

It was more than I’d received from him on the night Oliver was born.