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Like any new member of our family, he looked like a blend of myself and the man he’d been before. He had my long face and nose, but had kept his strong jaw and beautiful brown eyes. He had the skin of the newly-reborn. Like most men of our family, he’d been reborn looking around 18 or 20.The imprinting went both ways. I felt overwhelming paternal affections for this man. I looked down at him and felt my eyes tearing up.“Dad?” he said, recognizing me now.“Yes, son,” I replied, smiling. He smiled back.I leaned in and kissed him; he responded eagerly. We stayed like that for a while, holding him in my arms while we explored each other’s lips and tongues, a father and son getting properly acquainted for the first time.He looked around the room. “Where are we?”“We’re home. You’re safe, this is where you live.”“I don’t remember anything.”“That’s okay, that’s normal. You’re brand new, starting fresh.”“What’s my name?”I’d given a lot of thought to it over the last few days. Many fathers of. But, often as with television or music, her attention wandered until she sat there, almost catatonic in a far away place, her food left to cool into a congealing mass. Over a period of weeks, the vacant spaces became less and less often and diminished in longevity, while her cognitive state became longer. She chose to be in her room for longer times, but with the door open and not as any kind of barrier. Paul bought her a television and a radio so she could be on her own if she wanted. He bought books for her to read and allowed her to do as she pleased, but insisted that they eat together, cook and wash up. He was pleasantly surprised to find that Abigail was a good cook, inventive and adventurous with everyday ingredients. She continued to regain the flesh over her bones.She had been with him for nearly six months now.Although they were sharing time and talking, Paul still didn’t fully trust her, believing that her full recovery was still a long way off, in all probability that,.
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