a series of choices.
One warm meal.
One honest conversation.
One locked door.
One person willing to wait.
“I want to visit the apartment tomorrow,” I said.
“We can.”
“And I want to meet Samuel again.”
“I’ll help arrange it.”
“Not as a favor.”
“No.”
“As family?”
Daniel considered that.
“As people trying to build something honest.”
I nodded.
Outside, Christmas lights glowed beneath the snow.
For the first time in eight months, I was not wondering where I would sleep.
For the first time in twenty-six years, I was
