Two months passed.
One Sunday morning, as Emily rocked Noah by the window, there was a knock at the door.
She opened it.
Ethan stood there.
Thinner. Tired. Holding a small stuffed bear like it was the only thing keeping him together.
“I don’t deserve to be here,” he said quietly.
Emily met his eyes.
“No. You don’t.”
Silence.
Then Noah made a soft sound from the crib.
Ethan’s face crumbled.
Emily stepped aside.
Not because she had forgiven him.
But because their child deserved a chance.
Ethan walked in slowly, like someone entering a place he wasn’t sure he belonged.
He knelt beside the crib.
Touched Noah’s tiny hand.
And Noah, unaware of anything that had happened before, wrapped his fingers around his father’s.
