The morning sun streamed through the windows, catching dust motes like tiny stars in the air. Noah sat at the kitchen table, a pencil poised over a blank sheet of paper. Unlike the countless times before, his fingers twitched slightly—not because he was unsure of the routine, but because something had changed.
He was ready to try something new: speaking for himself.
Ethan watched quietly from the doorway, coffee in hand. He had noticed the small signs the past week—the pauses when a teacher spoke over him, the subtle hesitation when someone assumed he would stay silent, the slight tightening of his jaw when he wanted to answer but didn’t.
“Morning, buddy,” Ethan said softly.
“Morning, Daddy,” Noah replied, still focused on his sheet.
“You seem… thoughtful today,” Ethan noted.
Noah lo
