Four years after the kitchen incident, Daniel stopped at the same florist.

He almost drove past.

Then turned around.

White roses.

Yellow tulips.

The same combination.

Not for Victoria.

For Emma.

She had finished middle school with an academic award in science.

Daniel carried the bouquet home.

When he entered the kitchen, he heard running water.

His body reacted before his mind.

Heart racing.

He rounded the doorway.

Emma, now twelve, stood at the sink.

Sophie, four, stood beside her on a learning stool.

Water everywhere.

Plastic cups.

Soap bubbles.

No baby carrier.

No clenched fist.

No Victoria.

Emma looked over.

“Don’t freak out.”

Daniel stopped.

Sophie held up a dripping sponge.

“We’re helping!”

Emma rolled her eyes.

“She wanted to wash her cup.”

Daniel looked at the flowers in his hand.

Then at the sink.

For one brief second Chapter 1 lived inside the room.

Emma saw his face.

“Dad.”

“I’m good.”

“You’re doing the trauma thing.”

Sophie gasped.

“What’s trauma?”

Emma answered:

“Dad being weird.”

Daniel laughed.

He placed the bouquet safely on the counter.

It did not fall.

That mattered more than anyone else understood.

He walked to Emma.

“These are for you.”

She stared.

“Why?”

“Because you earned something.”

He handed them over.

Emma looked at the same colors that once lay scattered across the floor while her father discovered everything he had missed.

She smiled.

“Thanks.”

Daniel looked toward the sink.

“Do you want help?”

Emma thought.

“No.”

Then:

“Actually, yes. Sophie is terrible at this.”

“I’m amazing!”

Daniel rolled up his sleeves.

Three people finished five plastic cups.

Nobody had to.

That was the point.

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