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I can see it in the way she hovers at the edges of rooms, and the barely hidden wariness she wears in her eyes.

After the funeral, she locked herself away in that tiny apartment of hers for an entire week. I didn’t push because she needed space. All I could do was let her know I was there if she needed me.

When she finally came back, showing up at my door insisting she was “fine” and “ready to work,” I wasn’t fooled. There was a hollowness in her voice and a staticin her gaze. But I bit my tongue. I let her in, let her slip back into the routine with Rosie, because I understand how grief can transform you into someone you don’t recognize.

She’s not fine, though. Some days, she clings to me. She’ll lean into me on the couch at night after Rosie’s in bed, exhaling shaky breaths she tries to hide. She’ll snake her fingers into mine as if she’s not aware she’s doing it, like she’s just searching for something to keep her balanced. Other times, she’s distant, her emotions reined so tight I can’t find a crack to slip through.

Both ways, it hurts to see.

Then there’s Rosie. Watching Lena with Rosie is like watching the sun break through clouds. It’s in those moments she’s herself again, like Rosie’s the one tether she can rely on, the reason to get up in the morning.

When she came back, she said that she needed the routine. Honestly, so did I.

I was losing my mind wondering if she’d lock me out completely, if she’d decide we should never have crossed those lines. But she just showed up with a quiet determination, ignoring the sadness in her eyes.

I wish she’d talk to me about it, but she doesn’t. Maybe she can’t.

So I wait.

I’ve waited before.

Because it’sher.

She’s the one who unknowingly put me back together when I was sure I’d break under the weight of grief and single parenting. I didn’t ask for it. She just did it, creeping under my skin until I couldn’t imagine a day without her. So, if waiting is what she needs, then that's fine. I’ll wait as long as it takes and continue toignore the sting whenever she pulls away from my touch.

Like this morning, when she came to pick up Rosie for some errands, she let me brush her wrist with my fingertips—my silentI’m here—but she backed off almost immediately, a haunted look flickering behind her eyes. She whispered a quick goodbye and left. It left me feeling off-balance all day.

Now I’m scrolling aimlessly through admin on the office computer at the shop, trying to drown my thoughts in work. It’s Sunday and we’re slammed with overtime. Kate’s off, which means I should be out there too, but I can’t concentrate.

The hum in the garage shifts. You can feel it, an almost imperceptible change in air pressure, the kind that hits a beat before someone starts grinning like an idiot.

“Hey, look who decided to visit!” someone calls.

My head snaps up.

Only one person gets that welcome from my grease-covered crew. Correction—two people. Because wherever Rosie goes, Lena’s not far behind.

I step into the open doorway and sure enough, there Rosie is. She’s toddling in with her tiny hands clenched around a shiny balloon, curls bouncing with each determined step. Her face is scrunched in the kind of deep baby concentration that makes me want to scoop her up and kiss the expression clean off.

Lena walks a half step behind, smiling down at her. Milo’s at her side, leash taut, ears perked.

It’s only been a few hours since I saw them, but this hits me with a wave of something I can’t name. Something that makes me feel like I’m standing on steady ground for once.

Then my eyes catch on the letters glinting on Rosie’s balloon.

Happy Father’s Day.

My stomach drops.

Fuck.

I forgot. Completely. My head’s been all over the place, balancing the shop, managing Rosie’s new temper tantrums, and worrying about Lena.

But she didn’t forget.

Even in the thick of her grief, still raw from losing Frank, she remembered. She brought Rosie down here, in the middle of her pain, just to give me this moment.

She hates Father’s Day and has every reason to, given the kind of relationship she’s had with her father and now losing the only man who ever filled that role. Yet, she still did this.