“Your mother and I saved up a little bit every week,” Owen told him, patting his shoulder gently.

“That is all there is to it, kiddo.”

Noah gently set the velvet lid back down, scrambled to his feet, and threw his arms around his father’s neck with immense force.

I had seen my child joyful before, but I had never seen him show such profound gratitude for a material possession.

He understood the sheer physical labor that had bought that instrument, and he treated the wood like sacred treasure.

Every single evening, he wiped the chrome hardware and the polished sunburst body with a microfiber cloth before sleeping.