The morning air was crisp, carrying a promise of change. Ethan woke before Noah, as usual, listening to the faint sounds of the city stirring—the hum of traffic, a neighbor sweeping, a bird’s call from somewhere nearby. The sunlight filtered softly through the curtains, pale but persistent, as if insisting that the day begin no matter how uncertain the past had been.
He sat on the edge of the bed, breathing deeply, letting the quiet fill him. The house no longer felt heavy, burdened with unspoken tension or absent words. It felt alive, fragilely balanced between what had been and what could be.
Noah came bounding in moments later, hair sticking up in all directions, slippers sliding across the floor. “Daddy! Morning!” he shouted, excitement in every syllable.
“Good morning, buddy,” Etha
