He had Daniel’s shoulders. My father’s stubborn mouth. A scar through one eyebrow I’d never seen.

He looked at Noah first. Then Sophie. Then me. His face went pale. “Mom?”

I stood. He crossed the room like the nine-year-old boy I’d lost was still inside him — and maybe he was. He hit my arms so hard I almost fell.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

I held him while he shook. “There’s nothing to forgive you for.”

“I left Noah.”