“Why didn’t you just tell me?” I asked, a mix of anger and sadness bubbling up.

“Because I thought it would be easier for you to hate me from a distance,” he replied, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I made mistakes, Jess. I was a different man back then. I didn’t think I could fix what I did to your mom, so I didn’t try. Cowardly, I know.”

We sat in silence, the weight of years lost hanging between us. I thought of my mom, dealing with her own pain, and me, unknowingly serving pancakes and coffee to the man who was supposed to be a part of our lives.

“Mom knows you’re here, doesn’t she?” I asked.