But Grant had built the machine.
My parents had simply been arrogant enough to believe it would never crush them.
Dad came to my house two months later.
Alone.
He stood on the porch where Mom had once held that casserole.
He looked smaller.
Older.
He stared at the blue door.
“I owe Silas my life.”
“Yes.”
“And I owe you…”
He stopped.
I waited.
This time, I didn’t rescue him from the sentence.
“I owe you an apology.”
I said nothing.
“For throwing you out.”
Still nothing.
“For what I called him.”
He swallowed.
“For making love something you had to earn.”
That one hurt.
Because it was the first thing he said that sounded like understanding.
Dad looked at me.
“I was wrong about Silas Callahan.”
The front door opened behind me.
Silas stepped outside holding Ren.
Dad stared at him.
Then at the baby.
For a second, I saw hope in his face.
I also saw how easy it was to mistake apology for repair.
They weren’t the same.
“You can’t have fifteen years back,” I said.
Dad nodded.
“I know.”
“And you don’t get access to Ren because you said sorry.”
His eyes lowered.
