at first.
Nathan brought a small wooden truck he had made in his workshop. Owen loved it immediately but pretended not to. Lily sat between us, looking from Nathan to me and back again, as if trying to understand whether caring about one adult might erase another.
Children who had lost too much often counted love like coins.
Maya noticed.
“You know,” she said gently, “people don’t run out of caring because there’s more than one person in the room.”
Owen rolled the wooden truck across the table. “What if they do?”
“Then they didn’t understand caring very well.”
Lily leaned against my arm.
Nathan saw it.
To his credit, he did not look jealous.
He looked grateful and sad.
After the visit, he caught me in the parking lot.
“I don’t want to take them from you,” he said.
“They’re not mine.”
“No. But you showed up.”
“So did
