“Honest work,” he said. “I forgot what it does for a man.”

After that, he called every few weeks. He never asked for money. Never asked for a room. He just checked in and told me about fixing slips, moving fuel, securing boats, helping elderly fishermen get ashore before storms.

He took evening shifts at the hardware store. On Tuesdays he went to a divorced-fathers’ support group in a church basement. He hired an attorney so he could fight for real time with Madison and Cooper.

Slowly. Patiently. One piece at a time. He was rebuilding a life out of the wreckage. And for the first time in years, I let myself hope without confusing hope with surrender.

Chapter 8 — The Ridge

About eight months later, Trent mentioned something that stayed with me. “Walter, have you ever been up past Cedar Ridge? North end of your land?”

“Not much.”