For Noah Daniel,
Every flight deserves a record.
Grandma Margaret
Noah traced the words with his finger.
Then he looked up.
“You spelled my whole name.”
“Of course.”
“My middle name is his name.”
“Yes.”
“Does that make you sad?”
Margaret inhaled carefully.
“It makes me sad for what was lost. But your name belongs to you now. You make it mean something new.”
Noah considered this.
Then he sat beside her.
Not close.
But beside.
I watched Margaret’s face as she fought not to react too much and scare him away.
A small hand slipped into mine.
Sophia.
“Mama,” she said quietly, “is this happy or sad?”
I watched Olivia showing Margaret her horse drawings, Ethan explaining train mechanics, Noah pretending not to enjoy attention.
“Both,” I said.
Sophia nodded. “Life is rude like that.”
I laughed.
For the first time in months, it did not hurt.
By summer, Daniel had met the children twice under professional supervision.
