He packed lunches, sat through therapy sessions, left work early, turned down evening events, and began to build days sturdy enough for his children to lean against. Somewhere inside that exhausting routine he discovered that fatherhood, when stripped of every performance and reduced to what mattered, was not grand at all. It was repetitive, humble, and holy in its own way.
Delaney, meanwhile, followed every requirement given to her. She attended therapy, cooperated with the court, found a small apartment of her own, ended contact with the man from the accident, and began supervised family visits at a county center with a therapist present.
At first the visits were painfully awkward.
Micah stood close but reserved. Elsie hid behind him and studied Delaney as if trying to decide whether she was real. Delaney did not force hugs or beg for forgiveness. She read books, colored quietly, brought old family photos, and showed up every single time.
That mattered.
Children notice consistency the way flowers notice light.
