He had a four-year-old and no money left to fight a custody lawyer.”

“You forged court records, and you lied to me for thirty-four years,” I said.

Gene looked down at his boots.

My whole life he had been the loud uncle who handled commercial real estate deals and talked over everybody at holiday dinners.

Standing on the cold courthouse steps, he looked gray and worn out.

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” he said quietly.

“I really am.”