Seven years after our divorce, I went to my ex-wife’s house on Christmas Eve to apologize. But when she opened the door, a little boy appeared behind her with eyes that looked exactly like mine.

a slow breath, and her shoulders relaxed.

Then a hard knock sounded at the front door.

Jessi flinched.

I looked toward the hallway, recognizing the aggressive rhythm before the doorbell even rang.

Wendy.

Jessi started forward, but I gently touched her forearm.

“Let me handle this. This is mine.”

I walked past the living room, where Leo was stacking his plastic bricks, and opened the front door.

My mother stood outside in an expensive beige wool coat with a leather handbag. Cold had reddened her cheeks, but her eyes still