We didn’t hug right away. We are not those kinds of men. But David reached out his hand, and I took it. I gripped his hand until my knuckles turned white, trying to put seventeen years of apologies into one squeeze.

Then a young girl walked out of the kitchen. She had David’s eyes. She had my mother’s chin.

Sarah.

She smiled, a little shyly, holding a notebook and a pen.

I reached into my pocket. I didn’t keep my hands locked at my sides this time. I took out the silver Seiko watch and laid it on the entryway table.

“I brought you this,” I told her. “It keeps good time. I think it’s time you had it.”

Then I stepped forward and opened my arms.

When she hugged me, I felt something behind my ribs finally loosen.

It didn’t fix the seventeen lost years. Those were gone, and that was the price of my pride. But as we walked into the dining room where the table was set, I knew it was a start.

I sat down next to my son, and we talked.