Noah shrugged.
“She’s much better at it than I am.”
“He’s terrible,” Grace confirmed.
“Thanks,” Noah muttered.
“You’re welcome.”
We all laughed.
As I watched Michael smile at his daughter, I noticed something I hadn’t seen before.
He looked relaxed.
For months, his face had carried the strain of a father terrified of losing his child.
That evening, he was simply a dad enjoying something his daughter had accomplished.
It was a beautiful sight.
But the sweetest surprise came the following Sunday.
Michael and Grace joined us for breakfast.
Noah was already in the kitchen making pancakes.
As soon as Grace walked inside, she lifted a paper bag.
“I finished it!”
Noah turned around.
“Finished what?”
She reached inside and pulled out a blue apron.
Across the front, she had carefully sewn his name.
NOAH
Beneath it was a large pocket.
One side was slightly higher than the other.
