The next morning came with a chill that settled into the bones, not harsh, but persistent, like the memory of a song you almost forgot. Ethan woke before Noah, as usual, listening to the subtle creak of the house and the soft hum of distant traffic. The light through the curtains was thin and gray, muted by clouds that promised rain later. He didn’t rush to get up. For once, he didn’t feel the familiar weight of dread pressing against his chest.
Instead, there was a strange calm, a feeling he had almost forgotten: the sense that he could move forward, if only slowly, if only carefully.
He brewed his coffee, black, letting the aroma fill the kitchen. He glanced at the little pile of Noah’s schoolbooks on the counter, neatly stacked, untouched. A small, quiet smile tugged at the corners of
