She bit the inside of her cheek, feeling heat rise in her chest. His words carried weight, not because of their intensity but because of their clarity. He wasn’t flattering her. He wasn’t filling silence. He meant every syllable.

She placed a box on the shelf, turning to face him fully. “I’m trying to trust myself too.” “You’re doing it well,” he said. Her breath hitched, though not in a way that unsettled her. “I’m learning,” she whispered. His gaze softened. “You are.”

By early afternoon, the energy in Haven shifted. Children gathered for a drawing session in the art room, while volunteers handed out snacks. The hum of quiet...