He nodded, voice barely a whisper. “Can I…?” She gave a small nod. “Don’t wake her.” He climbed the stairs slowly, each creak of the wood sounding louder than it should. When he reached the nursery, he paused at the threshold. The faint glow of the nightlight washed the room in a soft amber hue.
His daughter slept soundly in her crib, her tiny fists curled near her face. James stepped closer, his breath catching. For the first time, he saw her clearly, not as a question, not as proof or doubt, but as his child. He crouched down, his hands trembling as he rested one gently on the edge of the crib. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “For everything.”