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My mother swallows hard, but it’s my father who answers in her stead.

“Because sometimes adults make mistakes,” he says, gazing at me pointedly. “We lost him, but we’re hoping he’ll forgive us for it.”

The boys seem to accept that answer, which doesn't surprise me. They're ten. The world is still simple enough for them to believe that people can screw up and still be okay. They scatter into the dining room a moment later, arguing loudly about whose turn it will be on the Xbox after dinner. Life resumes.

I stand there shaking, unable to speak, when Sarah turns to me with glassy eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I should have told them sooner. They’ve just barely started to understand that Logan isn’t their blood relative, and we weren’t sure if… Well, we didn’t know if we’d ever see you again.”

All I can do is nod. Pat the hand she still has on my arm, and turn into the dining room without a word. I feel like if I say something, I’ll break completely. There are so many emotions swirling inside of me, too many to grab hold of.

Shame at having stayed away for so long.

Anger at their decision to give me up in the first place.

Maybe a little bit of sadness, too, at the years with my brothers that I’ll never get back.

But most of all, though…

As I slide into a seat across from the triplets and watch them shove each other over who gets to sit next to Logan, there’s one feeling that pushes itself to the forefront of my mind: soul-aching relief.

Like a weight that’s crushed me down since I was a kid finally let up, and now I can breathe.

“How old are you?”

I blink, pulled from my thoughts to find all three sets of eyes staring at me. “Uh… thirty.”

Their faces fall in perfect unison.

“He is old,” one of them whispers solemnly.

Sarah scolds him as she sets a plate down in front of her husband. “Zachary, that’s not nice.”

“You gonna eat, Dev?” Joel asks, tipping his chin toward the kitchen counter covered in various dishes.

“Yeah,” I say quickly, pushing my chair back. “Sorry.”

I stand and grab a plate, suddenly hyper aware of every movement I make. Logan and Salem are grabbing food as well, hovering near the stove where my mother has laid everything out.

Salem thanks her stiffly when she hands over the serving spoon, but Sarah’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. There’s a chilly air around them both, and from the way Logan’s jaw tightens as he drizzles gravy over his entire plate, he notices it, too. Clearly, whatever happened between them last year hasn’t been forgiven.

I just keep my eyes down and take whatever’s offered to me, even if I don’t plan on eating most of it. Logan and Salem are not my mess to clean up. I’ve probably caused enough damage to everyone already trying to deal with my own.

When we make our way back to the table, Joel clears his throat. “Alright,” he says, nodding toward the far end of the table. “Eli, you wanna say grace?”

One of the boys straightens instantly. “I did it last time.”

“Then Gabe.”

Gabe groans dramatically but still folds his hands. “Fine.”

Everyone follows suit. I hesitate for half a second before doing the same, fingers laced together awkwardly. Memories of silent dinners spent with my grandparents run through my head.

“Okay.” Gabe squeezes his eyes shut. “Um. Thank you for the food. And for letting the Ravens win their football game last night.”

Sarah lets out a soft laugh when the other two agree wholeheartedly.

“And for Logan being home,” he adds. “And for… his wife, I can’t remember her name, sorry, and for Devon. Amen.”