“No,” she said. “It isn’t.”
Daniel crouched in front of his son.
“You don’t have to become a family in one day. Tomorrow is only a conversation.”
“Will you stay?”
“The whole time.”
“Will Grandma?”
Evelyn looked at Daniel.
He hesitated.
The old pattern appeared between them again—the silent negotiation, the unspoken fear, the temptation to decide for Silas.
Then Daniel caught himself.
He turned back to his son.
“Do you want her there?”
Silas thought carefully.
“Not in the room.”
Evelyn’s face fell, but she nodded.
“I understand.”
“You can wait outside,” Silas added. “So nobody disappears.”
Evelyn reached across the space between them and took his hand.
“I can do that.”
That evening, Daniel took Silas and Evelyn to his house.
It was a modest two-bedroom home with clean counters, mismatched furniture, and a row of toy cars lined precisely along the living-room windowsill. The order was almost the opposite of Evelyn’s crowded rooms, but Daniel moved through it with the same nervous energy his mother had shown while gathering letters.
