Ethan looked toward the windows.
The city spread beneath him, filled with buildings he understood better than the child in his arms.
His company trusted him with structures worth hundreds of millions of dollars.
Clients praised his control, his precision, his refusal to leave anything to chance.
After the accident, he had brought the same instincts home.
Every table corner was padded.
Every door was monitored.
Every toy was inspected.
Every person who entered received instructions about what Sophie must never be allowed to do.
He had believed vigilance was love.
He had never considered that his terror had become part of the room.
Sophie shifted against him.
Ethan immediately tightened his hold.
She made a small sound.
Everyone turned.
It was not a word.
Barely more than air caught in her throat.
But Elena saw where she was looking.
“Put her down,” Elena said.
Ethan recoiled.
“No.”
“She wants the rabbit.”
“It is in her hands.”
Grace looked closely.
The rabbit had slipped from Sophie’s grasp and landed against Ethan’s shoe.
Sophie reached toward it.
Ethan bent to retrieve it.
“Don’t,” Elena said.
He stopped.
Sophie reached farther.
A frustrated sound escaped her.
Ethan’s hand hovered inches above the rabbit.
Every instinct told him to pick it up, remove the difficulty, and return the world to stillness.
Instead, he lowered Sophie onto the rug.
He kept both hands beneath her arms.
Elena moved beside them.
“Let her feel the floor.
Do not pull her up.”
“I’m not letting go.”
“You do not have to.
Just stop carrying all of her weight.”
Sophie’s feet touched the rug.
Her knees bent immediately.
Ethan started to lift her.
“Wait,” Elena said.
Sophie stared at the rabbit.
Her toes curled.
One foot pressed down.
Then the other.
Ethan felt the change through his hands.
His daughter was holding part of her own weight.
His breath broke.
“Sophie.”
The child looked up at the sound of her name.
There were tears in her father’s eyes.
He smiled too quickly, too brightly, and Sophie’s knees buckled.
