He didn’t mean to stop in Portland. He was driving across the nation and stopped in the city to stretch his legs and get a quick coffee before moving on. But when he walked by a bright café on Stark Street, he stopped because he heard her laughing coming through the window on a breeze that sounded strangely familiar.
He stood by the window, gasping out in shock as he watched the scene unfold. There was Zariah, the lady he had loved and lost seven years ago. She was sitting at a table for four. The sun in the late afternoon struck her hair, and she flung her head back and laughed, making years of distance evaporate in an instant. He had convinced himself that she had moved on a long time ago and that it was best to forget about their short romance. But there she was, full of life and fire.
Then he noticed the youngsters. Three pairs of bright eyes glanced at her, and their faces lit up with smiles that were the same. He could tell that all three of them had the same high cheekbones and deep dimples as he did. He felt his chest tighten as he understood that these weren’t just kids with her; they were his kids. All three of them were living testament of the life he had never lived.
His phone shook in his hand, not to record this great find, but to help him keep calm in the middle of all the feelings. He remembered the fight that ended their relationship: his lack of confidence and her injured pride. He had spoken things about her that he didn’t mean, and she had left without saying anything, leaving him to ponder what may have been. Now she was not only alive but also doing well, with three small reminders of the love they once had.
He carefully crossed the street, his heart racing. He wasn’t going to face her yet; he just wanted to feel it. People were talking quietly, coffee cups were clinking, and you could hear soft jazz music coming from hidden speakers in the café. When the bell rang above him, he hesitated for a second, then moved on as if he were going back into his own story.
Zariah didn’t look up at first. One of the boys, a confident little kid with his mother’s crooked smile, looked over and then said something that made Zariah turn her head. Time stopped when she peered into his eyes. When she stood up, a napkin slid off her lap. She repeated his name as she had been speaking it in her head every day since he left.
“Kojo?” She expressed it in a voice that sounded both astonished and something deeper—recognition? Relief?
He closed the gap in three steps. “Hi, Zariah,” he said, but his heart was beating so fast that it was hard to hear what he said.
The youngsters watched them like they were in a play, not sure if they should laugh or run away. Zariah gripped their hands tightly and told them to go have dessert. She never stopped-op.joing him tremendously 衍— tunes flush. When they were alone, she crossed her arms and asked him what he wanted.
“I—I didn’t know you were here,” he said in a low voice. “Or that you had kids.”
Her eyes were full of anger and pain. “You think you deserve answers after what you said?”
He shivered as he thought back to the awful things he had spoken to her, the jealous accusations, and the harsh ultimatums. He only said, “I was wrong.” “I know that now.”
Her sigh was heavy with seven years. “You put all the blame on me.” And then you left.
He said, “I freaked out.” “I couldn’t handle how serious things got.” “I’m sorry.”
She shook her head. “You never sought my love. You wanted to be in the spotlight more than we did.
He felt guilty and shut his eyes. “I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he added quietly. “I just want to get to know my kids. I’d do anything to earn their trust, even if you never want me back.”
There was a lengthy, dense silence between them. He got ready for a “no.” Instead, she looked at him with a chilly mind and then finally nodded. “You can sit with us,” she said. “But you hear. You don’t have to tell them why you did what you did. Not today.”
“Deal,” he murmured, feeling a sense of relief.
He sat down with them as the kids went to get cookies that were the size of cookies. He laughed at their jokes for the next hour and was impressed at how smart they were. The first boy to stare at him asked if he had ever been on TV. His daughter wanted to know why his eyes looked so much like hers. He said, “Because I love your mother a lot.”
They stopped chatting, but it wasn’t awkward, like they had finally solved a question. He didn’t push them.e. He just came, stayed, and waited, letting the warmth between them grow.
He came back every other Saturday and brought card games, picture books, or just talked. Sometimes Zariah would join them, but other times she would observe from a distance. The coldness in her eyes slowly went away. She asked him to come to their backyard picnic for Noor’s birthday one spring morning. He got there early, feeling both excited and scared. As the lights twinkled above them at dusk, she turned to him and whispered, “You kept showing up.”
He promised, “I will always be there.”
He cried at Jasper’s graduation later that year as he stood next to her and watched his son earn an award. The kids weren’t whispering “Who’s that man?” anymore by the next Christmas. Instead of telling them to, they ran to him and exclaimed, “Daddy!” since he had quietly earned that status.
Sometimes we hurt the ones we want to be with in the future the most. You don’t waste a second chance that life affords you. You come, stay humble, and let love find its way back home.