"Your family."

Then I pointed toward my incision.

"Your wife."

Then toward the laundry.

"The life you walked away from."

Trevor opened his mouth.

Frank spoke first.

"She shouldn't have had to call me."

Trevor turned toward him.

"This doesn't concern you."

Frank stood.

"It concerns me because I know what happens when a father walks away."

Trevor's jaw tightened.

"You abandoned us."

Frank nodded.

"I did."

The room became silent.

Trevor seemed shocked.

Maybe he expected an argument.

An excuse.

A defense.

Instead, Frank simply said:

"You're right."

Trevor looked away.

Frank continued.

"You have every reason to hate me."

"Then why are you here?"

Frank looked at the sleeping baby.

"Because your wife asked me to come."

Trevor looked at me.

I didn't say anything.

Frank's voice softened.

"And because I wanted to see what kind of man my son became."

"Even If They Forget, I Won't"

Trevor stood in the middle of the room.

Frank looked directly at him.

"You spent five days at the beach."

"I needed a break."

"Your wife had surgery."

"I knew she had help."

"Your children were born."

"I came back."

Frank's expression changed.

"Do you hear yourself?"

Trevor didn't answer.

Frank stepped closer.

"Those babies won't remember the five days you were gone."

Trevor looked at the twins.

"But you will."

Trevor swallowed.

"Your wife will."

I watched him.

Frank continued.

"And one day, when you're old, you'll remember too."

Trevor looked down.

Frank's voice was quiet.

"That's what you don't understand about being a father. Children don't remember every diaper you changed. They don't remember every bottle you warmed. They don't remember every night you walked the hallway with them."

He paused.

"But you remember."