“Yes.”
The room fell silent.
In that moment, something became clear to me.
There were no wrong children in that room.
There were only children who had been wronged.
And adults who now had to decide whether blood mattered more than seven years of bedtime stories, scraped knees, first words, fevers, birthdays and kisses.
I knew my answer instantly.
Darius did not.
That became the next disaster.
At first, Darius said all the correct things.
“We love Caleb.”
“Nothing changes.”
“We’ll figure this out together.”
But behavior tells the truth long before words do.
He began asking about Leah constantly.
What foods she liked.
Whether she played sports.
What subjects she enjoyed.
Whether she was afraid of thunderstorms.
He learned she loved astronomy.
So did he.
She hated mayonnaise.
So did he.
She had his habit of tapping three fingers against a table when thinking.
The first time he noticed, he stared at her as if witnessing a miracle.
