Avery's Point of View
Seeing them sitting together on the play rug felt like a fever dream.
Rhett was crouched awkwardly over the tiny wooden drawing pad, his massive, calloused fingers holding the blue pencil as Jasmine eagerly instructed him on where to draw the sky. He listened to her every word with rapt attention, nodding solemnly at her demands.
For five years, I had pictured this moment in my worst nightmares—imagining screams, courtrooms, and violent confrontations. I had never imagined this quiet, agonizing stillness.
"Not like that, Daddy," Jasmine corrected, tapping his wrist with her little finger. "You have to make the clouds fluffy, like cotton candy!"
"Fluffy clouds," Rhett repeated, his voice low and soft. "Got it."
Every time she said the word Daddy, a fresh wave of
