The rain started sometime in the night.
Ethan noticed it first when he woke, the steady tapping against the window blending with the early morning quiet. It wasn’t heavy rain—nothing dramatic—just enough to darken the streets and soften the edges of the world outside. One of those days that felt slower by default, like everything required a little more intention.
Noah slept beside him, curled into a small knot of warmth, breathing evenly. Ethan watched him for a moment longer than necessary, feeling that familiar mix of gratitude and quiet fear. Peace, he had learned, was never permanent. It had to be chosen, protected, and sometimes fought for in the smallest ways.
Noah stirred. “Daddy… is it raining?”
“Yeah,” Ethan said softly. “Just a little.”
“Can we still go out later?”
“Maybe,”
