I stared at my father’s weathered hands.

He had spent a career making crews follow safety rules around dangerous equipment.

At home, he believed in another rule: nobody who had just asked for help should have to negotiate whether they deserved it.

Paisley woke and began to fuss.

Dad stood without being asked, brought me water, and handed me the burp cloth within reach.

While I fed her, he made toast and brought a plate to the bedside.

“It’s nothing fancy,” he said.