He paused.
“You were my brother, Michael. You could have told me the truth.”
Michael said nothing.
Daniel walked toward the office door and opened it.
“Leave.”
Michael stood motionless for several seconds.
Then he walked out.
Daniel closed the door behind him.
He felt no satisfaction.
No triumph.
Only the understanding that some betrayals could not be repaired by punishment.
And that no matter what his brother had done, the years Daniel had lost were still his responsibility.
Three months later, Noah was making progress.
His recovery was slow, and some days were harder than others. There were mornings when pain left him frustrated and afternoons when exhaustion made him want to give up.
Daniel learned to recognize those days.
He learned when to encourage his son and when simply to sit beside him.
He learned how to make pancakes without burning them.
He learned that Noah hated tomatoes, loved old adventure movies, and laughed hardest at jokes that made absolutely no sense.
