Noah loved the helicopter landing lawn but pretended he only tolerated the place because the cookies remained tactically useful.
Daniel no longer lived at the estate.
After resigning, he moved into a modest townhouse outside Colorado Springs and began consulting for veteran transition programs. The work was quiet, unglamorous, and according to Margaret, the first useful thing he had done without needing applause.
His relationship with the children remained careful.
They saw him once a month at first, then twice, always with structure, always with their therapist’s guidance, always with my final approval.
There were good days.
There were terrible ones.
On one visit, Noah refused to get out of the car.
Daniel stood outside in the cold for forty minutes, not pressuring him, not pleading, simply waiting.
Finally Noah rolled down the window and shouted, “I’m mad again!”
Daniel nodded.
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t!”
“You’re right. I don’t fully.”
