I sat down slowly on the edge of the guest bed, watching him.
“Greg,” I said softly. “Do you miss them?”
He glanced up, puzzled. “The kids?”
“No.” I searched for the real shape of the question, because that wasn’t quite it either. “Being needed like that. Being Dad, the way you were then.”
His hand went still on the bottle. Susan kept drinking, oblivious, and for a few seconds the only sound in the room was the small, steady pull of her feeding. Then, very quietly, without looking at me, he said:
“That’s a ridiculous question.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t.”
“They’re adults, Laura. They’re doing well. Michael’s got a career he loves. Emma just bought that condo she’d been saving for since she was twenty-two.”
“I know all of that.”
“We did our job.”
I waited, because I could tell there was more sitting behind his teeth, and after a long moment it came out so quietly I almost missed it entirely.
