His smile disappeared.

His suitcase slipped from his hand.

It hit the floor.

Because Frank was sitting in the rocking chair.

Holding Trevor's son.

The baby was asleep against his chest.

My mother was folding laundry nearby.

And I was sitting on the couch.

Trevor stared at his father.

Frank stared back.

Twelve years vanished in a single second.

"Frank?"

Frank nodded.

"Hello, son."

Trevor looked at me.

"What is he doing here?"

I tried to stand.

Pain shot through my abdomen.

Frank immediately reached out.

"Don't."

Trevor watched his father steady me.

Something changed in his expression.

Not anger.

Something else.

Shame, perhaps.

But he didn't say anything.

He looked at the babies.

Then at the laundry.

Then at the kitchen.

Then back at Frank.

"What happened?"

I stared at him.

"You tell me."

"You Were Supposed to Be Here"

Trevor looked confused.

"I told you I'd be gone five days."

"You were gone five days."

"I came back."

"Yes."

"What's the problem?"

I couldn't believe he had asked.

"The problem is that you weren't here."

"But your mom was."

"That's your argument?"

He glanced at my mother.

She said nothing.

Trevor looked at Frank.

"Why is he here?"

I answered.

"Because I needed help."

Trevor's face hardened.

"You called my father?"

"Yes."

"You had no right."

That sentence stunned me.

"No right?"

"This is my family."

"Exactly."

I pointed toward the twins.