On the third morning, he put on his best suit, carried the silver-wrapped packages to his car, and drove to Brooklyn.
Jessica’s building was old, with peeling paint and fire escapes on the front. It looked nothing like his glass tower in Manhattan.
He sat in his Mercedes for nearly twenty minutes before forcing himself to get out.
When he pressed the buzzer for apartment 3B, Jessica’s voice came through the speaker.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Brandon.”
Silence.
Then the door buzzed open.
Jessica stood in the apartment doorway wearing blue nurse scrubs. Her dark hair was pulled back, and there were shadows under her eyes, the kind made by years of exhaustion, not one sleepless night.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“I want to see my sons.”
Her face tightened. “You have some nerve.”
“I know.”
“No, Brandon. I don’t think you do. You left us. You changed your number. You stopped sending money. You acted like we were dead. And now you show up with presents?”
He looked down at the shopping bag in his hands and suddenly felt ashamed of it.
Before he could answer, three boys appeared behind her.
Brandon’s breath caught.
The oldest stood straight, protective, with Brandon’s green eyes. Ethan.
The middle boy watched him with cautious anger. Mason.
The youngest held a stuffed dinosaur tight against his chest. Luke.
“Are you really our dad?” Mason asked.
Brandon tried to speak, but his throat closed. He nodded.
“Why did you leave?” Ethan asked.
Jessica closed her eyes. “Boys, go to your room.”
But Luke stepped forward, his little voice trembling.
“Are you going to stay this time?”
Something inside Brandon cracked.
Jessica stepped aside.
“You can come in,” she said. “Not because you deserve it. Because they deserve answers.”
The apartment was small. Too small for a mother and three growing boys, but clean and warm. Drawings covered the refrigerator. Toys sat in a basket. The couch was worn but neatly covered with a folded blanket.
Brandon sat awkwardly while the boys opened his gifts.
They looked at the expensive toys, touched them politely, but no one smiled.
Ethan finally looked up.
“We didn’t need toys,” he said. “We needed a dad.”
Those words hit harder than losing his company.
Brandon slid from the couch to the floor so he was at their level.
“You’re right,” he said, his voice shaking. “You are completely right. I was wrong. I should have been here. I should have been your father.”
“Then why weren’t you?” Mason asked.
Brandon wanted to say he had been busy. That business was difficult. That success had demanded everything.
But for the first time, he chose the truth.
“I was selfish,” he said. “I thought being important mattered more than being present. I was wrong.”
“Sorry doesn’t change anything,” Ethan said.
“No,” Brandon whispered. “It doesn’t. But I want to try. If you let me, I want to show up now.”
Jessica sent the boys to their room and sat across from Brandon.
“You want to know what the last five years were like?” she asked.
He nodded.
