Leo tilted his head, considering the idea with the same intense expression I recognized from my father’s side of the family.
“Like a real skyscraper?”
“Exactly like a skyscraper.”
From the counter, Jessi watched us quietly.
Her eyes carried an emotion I could not fully read: grief for the years we had lost mixed with the cautious hope of a mother watching her son connect with the father he had never known.
After Leo finished his apple slices, he ran into the living room to test his new building strategy.
Jessi put down her knife and wiped her hands.
“He likes you,” she said.
“He’s an incredible boy. You raised him beautifully.”
I stood to face her.
“You did all of it alone while I was hiding behind the Army and my wounded pride.”
Her arms folded.
“I didn’t raise him alone because I wanted to, Ivan. I did it because I thought you had closed the door forever. When that letter came back with your mother’s handwriting, something inside me shut down. I told myself that if a man could reject his unborn child, I had to be strong enough for both of us.”
