Seven months after our divorce, I rushed into St. Jude’s Children’s and Women’s Hospital, still angry at my ex-wife, only to learn that she had just given birth to twin boys, and both of them were mine. Before the night was over, a nurse would place a brass key in my hand and tell me to use it before my own family arrived. And what was waiting for me beyond that was even more shocking.

“Should I drive us to your apartment or somewhere else?” I asked politely.

She looked at me thoughtfully for a moment.

“Drive to my apartment first,” she said gently.

“Of course,” I agreed at once.

“You have a trust board meeting tomorrow morning, right?” she asked.

“I can easily join it by video call,” I offered.

“You actually have three separate meetings scheduled,” she noted correctly.

“I can easily move two of them,” I insisted.