In the space of one sentence, ten years rearranged themselves into a different shape entirely.
Every unanswered call his mother had made and blamed on his busy life.
Every visit his parents had gently declined to schedule, telling him not to trouble himself.
Every gap and silence he had explained away as the ordinary drift of a family spread across two states — all of it, suddenly, was not drift at all.
It was design.
Someone had been standing between him and his parents for a decade, holding a pen, writing in his name.