One month later...
Stella
Caspian's parents begged us to come.
Not in the way people begged when they wanted forgiveness handed to them quickly. There were no dramatic declarations, no grand apologies disguised as invitations. Just a steady stream of careful messages—measured, respectful, persistent in the quiet way that told me they were trying not to overstep and failing anyway.
How is Abby?
How are you?
Do you need anything?
We would love to see her again when you are ready.
Again. That word mattered.
It suggested continuity. Hope. The assumption that this wouldn't be a singular moment before retreating back into distance.
I didn't trust it immediately, but a month had passed since the blessing, and nothing had fallen apart.
Abby was thriving. Sleeping for longer stretches.
