Two months later, on a quiet Sunday morning, Abigail sat by the window rocking Mason in her arms. A soft knock broke the calm.

She opened the door slowly.

Julian stood there, thinner and worn out, holding a small stuffed bear as if it were the only thing holding him together. “I don’t deserve to be here,” he said.

Abigail met his eyes and didn’t look away. “No. You don’t.”

The silence held until Mason made a small sound from his crib, and Julian’s face broke. Abigail stepped aside without a word — not because she’d forgiven him, but because their child deserved the chance.

Julian walked in and knelt by the crib, reaching for Mason’s tiny hand. The baby closed his fingers around his father’s, knowing nothing of what had come before.