They were both nearly six feet tall.
Dark brown hair.
Gray-green eyes.
Michael’s chin.
My father’s height.
They stopped beside me.
Something flickered in Michael’s expression.
Not recognition.
More like discomfort.
Some primitive part of him had noticed the resemblance before his conscious mind understood it.
“I’m here for my children,” I said.
Michael actually laughed.
“Your children?”
His eyes moved across them briefly.
Then returned to me.
“This weekend matters to Evan.”
“It matters to them too.”
Rebecca gave a small sigh.
“Michael, we should go.
Evan needs to prepare.”
But Michael didn’t move.
He stared at me.
“How dare you come here today?”
Several people nearby turned.
A volunteer at the registration table stopped sorting badges.
My face grew warm.
For thirteen years, I had imagined Michael being ashamed when he saw us again.
Instead,
he was angry that we existed within eyesight of his new family.
