Seven years after my painful divorce from Lauren Keaton, I drove across Billings, Montana, on Christmas Eve with a single purpose. I wanted to apologize for letting jealousy destroy our marriage when I wrongly assumed she had been unfaithful with a man named Patrick. I stood on her porch ready to speak, but my rehearsed words vanished when I saw how gracefully she had aged since I left her at twenty nine. Before we could discuss my sudden arrival, a small boy in pajamas hurried into the hallway holding a broken cardboard star. My breathing stopped when I noticed he had my exact blue gray eyes, my uneven left eyebrow, and the distinct dimple of my father. When the boy curiously asked who I was and whether my military jacket meant I flew helicopters, I managed to introduce myself as Liam. Lauren quickly sent the boy away to fix his ornament, leaving us alone in the tense quiet of the doorway. I begged her to tell me his age, and my entire world shattered when she quietly confessed he was seven years old.