him a green crayon.
“You get this.”
He accepted it like a diplomatic treaty.
“Thank you.”
For the first twenty minutes, they colored.
That was all.
No dramatic apology to a toddler.
No crying onto her shoulders.
No promises she could not understand.
Then Mia asked:
“Do you know Mommy?”
David looked at me.
I nodded.
“Yes.”
“Were you friends?”
He thought.
“We cared about each other.”
“Do you still?”
I froze.
Children.
David answered carefully.
“I care whether your mommy is happy and safe.”
Good.
Mia accepted that.
Then:
“Do you like dinosaurs?”
“Yes.”
“Which one?”
David hesitated.
Wrong move.
Mia narrowed her eyes.
He laughed softly.
“I need to study.”
She nodded.
“Okay.”
That was the first meeting.
Not redemption.
Not family restored.
A beginning.
Over the next two years, David saw Mia occasionally.
Supervised at first.
Then short independent outings after trust built.
Zoo.
Library.
Lunch.
He
