Tall Man became Justin.
Justin became Daddy in moments of excitement, then retreated back to Justin when the boy got shy about it.
The first time Prince ran across the playground yelling “Daddy, watch this!” Justin nearly missed the entire trick because his vision blurred.
Zara saw. She pretended not to.
Spring came.
The book tour ended.
Zara found a townhouse in Brooklyn with a backyard just large enough for a sand table, a vegetable planter, and the inflatable dinosaur Prince insisted was “security.”
Justin helped move boxes on a Saturday.
At one point Prince planted himself in the doorway with both hands on his hips and announced, “Daddy, your books go there.”
Justin froze with a crate in his arms.
Zara, standing on the stairs with a lamp, met his eyes.
Not permission. Not yet.
But not panic either.
That night, after Prince fell asleep in his new room under glow-in-the-dark stars, Justin lingered in the kitchen rinsing plates while Zara dried them.
Domesticity should have felt small to a man who had once measured success in square footage and acquisition size.
Instead, it felt like winning a war he had not deserved to survive.
Zara set down a dish towel. “Elijah called.”
