I read the results alone in my office.

Then I called Naomi.
“I’ve seen them,” she said before I could speak.

“What happens now?”

“We do this carefully.”

We spoke with a family professional about introducing me. Naomi wanted the boys to receive a simple, truthful explanation before I appeared in their living room.

I wanted to arrive with everything they had ever wanted.

She asked me to arrive with myself.

Two weeks later, I stood outside her apartment at the agreed time with a packet of plain paper in my hand.

“You’re Preston.”

“I am.”

“Mom said you’re our dad.”

My throat tightened.

“Yes.”

He considered that.

“Can you make airplanes?”

I looked at the paper.

“I can try.”

The apartment was bright, crowded with books, and unmistakably lived in. A half-finished puzzle occupied one end of the table. Two coats hung from hooks low enough for children to reach.

Eli stood beside a bookshelf, holding the notebook I had seen at the bakery.

I crouched a few feet away.

“Hi, Eli.”

He looked at me, then at Naomi.

She nodded.

He went to the shelf and returned with a photograph.

Our wedding.

Naomi and I were standing outside a little church in Galena. I was looking at her as though I understood what I had been given.

Eli held the photograph beside my face.

“You’re this man.”

“Yes.”

“Why aren’t you in our new pictures?”

Theo stopped pulling at the paper wrapper.

I looked at both boys.

Naomi and I had prepared for questions.

Preparation did not make the question hurt less.

“I didn’t know about you for a long time,” I said. “And before that, I made mistakes with your mom. I wasn’t there when I should have been. None of that was because of anything you or your brother did.”

Eli studied me.

“Mom has lots of pictures.”

“I’d like to see them sometime.”

“You have to ask her.”

“I will.”

We spent the next hour making airplanes.

Mine flew into the refrigerator.

Theo laughed so hard he had to sit down.

Eli inspected my folds, then quietly corrected one wing.

When it was time to leave, Theo wanted another plane. Eli wanted to know when I was coming back.

“Saturday at ten, if that still works for everyone.”

I looked at Naomi.

She nodded.

“For how long?” Eli asked.

“Until lunchtime.”

He repeated it under his breath.

Later, while Joanne took the boys downstairs to look at a neighbor’s new puppy, Naomi opened the blue folder again.

This time, she showed me photographs.

Theo with a knitted hat slipping over one eye.

Eli gripping a finger that belonged to Frank.

“He closed the bakery early that day,” she said.

I stared at the photograph.

Frank had known how small my son’s hand was.

I had never thought to wonder.

There were birthday pictures too. Joanne holding a cake while Naomi tried to keep both boys from reaching the candles. A summer afternoon at the lake. A cardboard rocket.

They had been loved.

That mattered.

It also meant I couldn’t pretend their lives had been waiting for mine to begin.

“Could I have copies of a few?” I asked.

Naomi chose several and said she would send them.

During those weeks, our attorneys helped arrange financial responsibilities, including the boys’ current needs and the expenses Naomi had carried. I provided the information requested and stopped treating each transfer as something that deserved acknowledgment.

The money arrived whether a visit went well or not.

Naomi continued teaching.

Nobody called her principal.

By my third Saturday, Theo had decided I was useful for reaching things.

Eli still asked how long I would stay.

One Friday evening, Naomi called so the boys could tell me what supplies they wanted for a cardboard space station.

Theo requested tape.

Eli requested blue paper.

Then he leaned close enough to the phone that I could hear him breathing.

“You’re coming tomorrow?”

“Ten o’clock.”

“I already put your chair by the table.”

I sat still for a moment after the call ended.

Then I entered the visit in my calendar again, even though it was already there.

PART 4: THE EMPTY CHAIR

Martin’s review of the old files took time.

The records showed that my mother had received correspondence. They showed that Gordon’s office had responded to Naomi under the authority of representing me.

They also raised questions about what had been withheld, who had given instructions, and what I had been told.

I asked for an independent review of those questions.

Then I went to see my mother.

Constance was in the sitting room where Naomi had once spent an entire dinner answering questions about why she still worked.

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