He was not marveling at his son.

He was studying him, comparing, searching the small unfinished features for something, and finding, apparently, that it was missing.

I had seen Nicolas look at spreadsheets that way, and used cars, and once a contract he suspected was hostile.

I had never seen him look at a person that way, and I had certainly never imagined seeing him look that way at a baby ten minutes into his life.

That was the moment, if I am honest, that everything began to end — not the words that came next, but the look that preceded them.

The words only confirmed what the look had already told me.