All the while, I imagined an alternate version of the past: Elena walking toward a café table and finding me there, telling me she was pregnant, both of us frightened, perhaps arguing, perhaps making room for something wonderful.

It was possible that we would have failed each other anyway.

But we should have had the chance to choose.

The laboratory report confirmed my biological paternity with overwhelming probability.

Priya called first.

Then Elena called.

Neither of us knew what to say.

“She has your eyes,” I whispered, and immediately regretted making the moment about resemblance.