There were crayons in a chipped mug, a calendar covered in daycare reminders, and two plastic drinking cups drying beside the sink.

I stared at those cups too long.

“Please don’t look at my home like it’s a museum of everything you missed,” Savannah said.

I turned to face her.

“You’re right.”

She leaned against the counter.

“What do you want to know?”

“Whether I am their biological father.”