Slowly. Honestly. With support.”
Nathan pressed his fist gently against the wall, not hard enough to make a sound. Just enough to hold himself upright.
“I missed everything,” he whispered. “Evan needed me, and I was busy being proud.”
I looked at him then, really looked.
He was not polished. He was not powerful. He did not enter rooms and make people calculate. But his regret was not theatrical. It had weight. It was doing work inside him.
“You’re here now,” I said.
He looked at me with red-rimmed eyes. “Is that enough?”
“No.”
He almost laughed, bitterly.
“But it’s where enough begins,” I added.
He looked away.
Maya nodded once, as if that was the first useful thing I had said all day.
The twins learned only part of the truth that afternoon.
Not in the courthouse hallway.
Not from panicked adults.
Not from whispers.
They learned it in
