He didn’t mean to stop in Portland. He was just passing through the city on his way across the country. It was a chance to stretch his legs and enjoy a quick coffee before going on. But when he walked by a bright café on Stark Street, he stopped because he heard her giggle through the window on a breeze that felt strangely familiar.
He stood at the window, gasping out in disbelief as he watched the show in front of him. Zariah was there, the lady he had loved and lost seven years ago. There were four people at the table with her. The sun in the late afternoon struck her hair, and she laughed so hard that years of distance disappeared in an instant. He had convinced himself that she had moved on a long time ago and that it was best to forget about their brief connection. But she was there, full of life and fire.
Then he noticed the children. Three pairs of bright eyes glanced at her, and their faces lit up with smiles that matched. He could tell that all three of them had the same high cheekbones and deep dimples as he did. His chest tightened as he realized that these weren’t just kids with her; they were his kids. All three of them were live testament of the life he had never known.
His phone shook in his hand, not to take a picture of this fantastic treasure, but to help him keep calm in the middle of all the feelings. He remembered the fight that broke them up: he was too scared to say anything and she was too proud to listen. He had spoken things about her that he didn’t mean, and she had left without saying anything, leaving him to wonder what could have happened. Now she was not only alive but also doing well. She had three miniature reminders of the love they had once shared.
He carefully crossed the street, his heart racing—not to confront her, but just to feel it. There was delicate jazz music playing from hidden speakers in the café, and people were talking quietly and clinking coffee cups. When the bell rang above him, he hesitated for a second, then moved on as if he were going back into his own story.
Zariah didn’t look up at first. One of the boys, a confident young kid with a crooked smile like his mom’s, looked over and said something that made Zariah’s head turn. When she looked into his eyes, time stopped. When she got up, a napkin dropped off her lap. She repeated his name as she had been speaking it in her head every day since he left.
“Kojo?” She expressed it in a voice that sounded both astonished and something deeper—recognition? Relief?
He closed the gap in three steps. “Hi, Zariah,” he said, his heart thumping so hard that it was hard to hear what he said.
The youngsters watched them like they were in a play, not sure whether to laugh or run away. Zariah gripped their hands tightly and told them to go have dessert. She couldn’t stop Tooce sought him out customer’s Sunday’s hierOR-H crushicy. When they were alone, she crossed her arms and asked him what he wanted.
“I—I didn’t know you were here,” he said softly. “Or that you were a parent.”
Her eyes were full of fury and pain. “Do you really think you deserve answers after what you said?”
He flinched as he thought about the horrible things he had said to her, such the jealous accusations and the harsh ultimatums. He only said, “I was wrong.” “I understand that now.”
Seven years of pain were in her sigh. “You put all the blame on me.” And then you went.
“I panicked,” he said. “I couldn’t handle how serious things got.” “I apologize.”
She shook her head. “You never wanted my heart.” You wanted to be in the spotlight more than we did.
He felt guilty and shut his eyes. “I don’t think I’ll be forgiven,” he remarked in a hushed voice. “I just want to get to know my kids. I’d do anything to earn their trust, even if you never want me back.”
There was a lengthy, dense silence between them. He was ready for a “no.” Instead, she looked at him coldly and then finally nodded. She said, “You can sit with us.” “But remneber. You don’t have to tell them why. Not today.”
“Deal,” he murmured, feeling a sense of relief.
He sat down with them as the kids went to get cookies that were as big as cookies. For the next hour, he laughed at their jokes and was impressed by how brilliant they were. The first boy who looked at him so intensely asked if he had ever been on TV. His daughter wanted to know why his eyes looked so much like theirs. He said, “Because I love your mom a lot.”
They stopped chatting, but it wasn’t weird, like they had finally found the answer to a question. He didn’t push Raise. He just showed up, was there, and was patient, letting their warmth grow.
Every other Saturday, he came back with card games, picture books, or just to talk. Zariah would sometimes join them, but other times she would just observe from a distance. The coldness in her eyes slowly went away. She asked him to come to Noor’s birthday celebration in their backyard one spring morning. He arrived there early, both excited and scared. As the lights lit up the sky at dusk, she turned to him and whispered, “You kept coming.”
He promised, “I’ll always be there.”
He stood next to her at Jasper’s graduation later that year and cried as he watched his son earn an award. By the next Christmas, the kids weren’t asking, “Who’s that man?” anymore. Instead, they ran to him and yelled, “Daddy!” not because he urged them to, but because he had quietly earned that title.
Sometimes we hurt the ones we want to be with in the future the most. You don’t waste a second chance when life gives you one. You show up, stay humble, and let love find its way back home.
