The kids were “having a hard time” and seeing me “reminded them too much of their dad.” Every message reasonable on its own.

Every one asking only for a little more time, a little more space, and I gave it, because I am the kind of man who respects a grieving mother’s wishes, who does not push, who tells himself that backing off is the same as being kind.

I left gifts on the porch.

I sent texts.

I waited to be let back in.

And I never was, and I told myself that was grief, and I have to live now with the fact that respecting Darla’s wishes and abandoning my brother’s children turned out, for three years, to be the exact same act.