The day began like any other. Light crept through the blinds, soft and gold, illuminating the small stacks of books on the kitchen counter and the half-finished art projects Noah had left the night before. The apartment smelled faintly of toast, coffee, and the lingering scent of yesterday’s cookies.
Noah sat cross-legged at the table, carefully drawing shapes and colors with the precision of someone who had learned that small details mattered. Ethan leaned against the counter, coffee in hand, observing him quietly. There was a subtle pride in these mornings, a sense of calm that had been hard-won over weeks of effort, routine, and intentional presence.
“Morning, buddy,” Ethan said, voice soft.
“Morning, Daddy,” Noah replied, glancing up briefly before returning to his coloring.
“Do yo
