I never returned it.
I stayed with the girls.
Not because they demanded it.
Because someone had to.
Callan appeared in fragments.
A birthday card arrived once without a return address.
Then a winter card with a stamp from a place I did not recognize.
He never included money.
Never asked whether the girls were healthy.
Never asked whether they remembered him.
When the triplets were twelve, he called.
I answered the shop telephone.
“Reid?”
I recognized his voice even after all those years.
“Where are you?”
“That’s complicated.”
“No, it isn’t. You are wherever you chose to be.”
He sighed.
“I want to reconnect.”
“With whom?”
“My daughters.”
My hand tightened around the receiver.
“They have names.”
“I know their names.”
“Say them.”
Silence.
“Callan, say their names.”
