“Is there a fault in your coding?” Giovanni asked him when the boy was four years old. “Did I make a mistake?” Victor didn’t respond. Instead, he lifted his arms, opening and closing his hands, his little fingers tapping against his palms. Giovanni did as he was asked. He lifted Victor, hugging him gently against his chest. Victor made a small noise that Giovanni took as happiness, his small face pressed against the man’s chest. “No,” Giovanni said. “You are as you’re supposed to be. I shouldn’t have questioned that. If there was ever perfection in this world, it would be you.” His chest ached
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