When Jessi opened the door, I expected anger, resentment, maybe even a refusal to speak to me.
I did not expect a little boy to appear behind her. He looked up at me with eyes so much like mine that my breath caught. I asked his age. Jessi answered softly, “Seven.” For a moment, I thought nothing could shock me more. Then she brought out an old letter with my name across the front.
Seven years after our divorce, I stood outside my ex-wife’s house on Christmas Eve, finally prepared to apologize for the misunderstanding and stubbornness that had destroyed our marriage.
Snow was melting into the shoulders of my old Army coat when Jessi opened the door. Before I managed a word, a little boy hurried up behind her in bright red Christmas socks, holding a crooked ornament made from cardboard.
“Mom, the star came off again.”
Then he noticed me.
