The boys rushed toward him.
“Uncle Jules!” Lucas yelled.
Julian crouched down and let all three boys crash into his arms. Although he was legally my husband, the boys had never called him Dad. That had been his decision.
“They deserve the truth someday,” he had told me before we married. “I won’t take a name that belongs to someone else unless they offer it.”
That was Julian.
Gentle in ways that made other men seem thoughtless.
After the boys disappeared into the kitchen, lured by the promise of pancakes, Julian handed me the coffee.
– Lo viste.
Yo asentí.
Julian shut the front door.
“Does he know?”
– Sí.
He inhaled slowly before glancing toward the hallway where the boys were laughing.
“How bad was it?”
“He asked if they were his.”
For the first time, Julian’s expression hardened.
Then I explained everything.
The plane.
The accusations.
El bordillo.
