He fixed them.
Not overnight. Not perfectly. But deliberately.
He also did something quieter.
He learned how to be a father in daylight.
Not just in private moments squeezed between meetings.
He stopped treating his sons like fragile investments and started treating them like children who deserved laughter without fear.
He read them bedtime stories. He attended school events. He learned their favorite snacks and their least favorite homework assignments. He let them be messy.
He let himself be messy too.
Naomi stayed.
Not because she had been bought.
She used the tuition assistance to enroll in nursing classes again, the dream she’d paused for survival. Marcus didn’t push. He didn’t hover. He simply made sure the door stayed open.
Sometimes, late at night, Naomi would sit at the kitchen table studying anatomy while Marcus reviewed reports. The house would be quiet, the twins asleep upstairs, the world outside dark and distant.
They didn’t talk much in those moments.
They didn’t need to.
Safety doesn’t always sound like laughter.
Sometimes it sounds like silence without dread.
One night, Naomi closed her textbook and looked at Marcus.
Marcus’s mouth tightened. “I know.”
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