Part 3: The First Visit

The test confirmed what Nora had told me. Theo and Mae were my children. Elena explained the result carefully and then outlined the practical questions: financial support, medical information, school routines, and a schedule that could grow as the children became comfortable.

None of the documents could tell me what Theo liked to read or whether Mae preferred the blue cup. Nora could, but she should not have to turn seven years of parenting into a briefing for my convenience.

Our first planned visit took place at the community center. Nora chose it because the children already knew the rooms and the people there. A family counselor was available if either child wanted to talk, but she did not direct our conversation or tell them how to feel.

Theo arrived with a model bridge made from craft sticks. Mae carried a sketchbook. I had been told not to bring gifts, so I brought only myself and a willingness to listen.

“Mom says you're our dad,” Theo said before I had sat down.

“Yes.”

“Did you know?”

“No. I learned at the art evening. Your mother tried to tell me a long time ago, but her letters didn't reach me.”

Mae looked from Nora to me. “Did you throw them away?”

“No. I never saw them. Someone else kept them from me, and I wish I had asked more questions.”

The counselor had advised us to avoid placing the burden of adult conflict on the children. I did not name my father or offer a detailed account. Theo deserved a truthful answer without being asked to judge a man he had never met.

“Were you busy?” he asked.

“I was. But being busy doesn't explain why I didn't make sure I understood what had happened. I'm sorry I missed those years.”

Theo nodded, as if filing the answer for later. Then he held up the bridge. “Can you help me make it stand?”

We examined the craft sticks together. I suggested a support under the middle, but he preferred to try two supports at the ends. His idea worked better. Mae drew the bridge in her sketchbook and added a river beneath it. Nora watched from a nearby chair, joining us when Mae asked her to choose a color.

After twenty minutes, Theo asked for a break. We had agreed the visit could end whenever either child needed it. I thanked them for showing me their work and promised to return the following Saturday if they wanted another meeting.

“Maybe,” Mae said.

“That is a complete answer,” I replied.

In the car afterward, I felt the urge to call Ada and describe every detail. Instead I wrote a few notes for myself: Theo likes building things. Mae draws while she listens. Both children ask direct questions and deserve direct answers.

Nora sent a message that evening. The children were tired but comfortable, she said. Theo wanted to know whether I had built bridges at work. Mae wondered if I had a favorite bird.

I replied that I designed buildings rather than bridges, and that my favorite bird was the robin my mother used to point out in winter. Nora said she would tell them.

Before putting my phone away, I looked at the next Saturday on my calendar. I had a business trip scheduled that morning. For years I would have treated the trip as fixed and the family appointment as something to move. I called my colleague and asked her to lead the meeting instead.