The morning light crept through the blinds slowly, soft and gold, painting the walls of the apartment in a calm glow. Noah sat cross-legged at the kitchen table, carefully organizing his colored pencils, lining them up by shade. There was a quiet precision in his movements, as though each arrangement mattered more than the last.
Ethan stood nearby, coffee in hand, observing. He had begun to notice the small shifts—the subtle signs of resilience that hadn’t been there weeks ago. Even the external disruptions of yesterday hadn’t broken the rhythm of their home; instead, they had clarified it.
“Morning, buddy,” Ethan said softly.
“Morning, Daddy,” Noah replied, glancing up briefly, then returning to his pencils.
“You’re very focused today,” Ethan said.
“I want it to be perfect,” Noah sai
