The model rocket shot upward, climbed thirty feet, then released its tiny parachute and drifted toward the grass.

Leo raced across the yard after it, laughing.

I climbed the porch steps and accepted a glass from Jessi.

“He’s getting good at building those.”

“He gets his patience from you,” she said softly. “Even if it took us seven years to learn that.”

My mother had tried to visit twice during those three months, apologizing one moment and demanding access to her grandson the next.

Jessi and I remained united.

Until Wendy fully acknowledged the damage caused by her manipulation, she would have no place in Leo’s life.

For the first time in seven years, my days were not controlled by military orders, old anger, or regret.

Leo ran back toward the porch carrying his rocket proudly. His blue-gray eyes were bright.

“Ivan?”

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Are you staying for dinner tonight?”

I looked at Jessi.

She gave me a small nod.

I knelt beside Leo and rested a hand gently on his shoulder.

“I’m staying for dinner tonight. And I’m not planning to disappear again.”

Morning light stretched across the quiet street, laying pale shadows over the frosted grass.

Inside Jessi’s kitchen, the air smelled of strong coffee, cinnamon, and fresh pine from the Christmas tree in the living room.

Leo sat at the wooden breakfast table in his red socks, swinging his legs while sorting through a box of colorful building bricks.

I stood near the kitchen counter with a mug of black coffee. Across the island, Jessi quietly sliced apples for Leo.

The simple domestic rhythm felt like a room from which I had been locked out for years: familiar, painful, and unexpectedly warm.

Leo lifted two blue bricks.

“Ivan, can you help me build this tower? Mom says it keeps falling because the bottom is too thin.”

I set down my mug and knelt beside him.

“Your mom is right.”

I picked up a wide green baseplate.