Jonathan laughed, a warm, genuine sound. “I have some drawing paper and some very bright markers.”

Liam walked up slowly, holding onto my sleeve.

“Can you draw a train?” Liam asked.

“I can try,” Jonathan said, kneeling down on the pavement to be at their eye level. “But you might have to help me.”

We went inside his apartment, the smell of fresh paint still lingering in the air.

The twins immediately sat on the hardwood floor, spreading the markers out.

Jonathan sat with them, patiently showing Liam how to draw the wheels of a locomotive.

I watched them from the kitchen doorway, sipping a glass of water.

There was no pretense in him now, no corporate shield to hide behind.

He was just a father, trying to learn the names of his children’s favorite things.

As the weeks passed, a new routine began to form.

Jonathan would walk to my studio every morning at eight.

He would take the twins to their kindergarten, holding their small backpacks.

In the afternoons, he would bring them back, sometimes staying to help me clean my paintbrushes.