EMBER’S POV

He blinks. The word hits him harder than I expected, or maybe harder than I intended, because something in his expression collapses and rebuilds in the space of a breath.

I didn’t plan to call him Dad. It just came out. The muscle memory of this porch, this house, this man standing in this exact spot where he used to wait for me after school on the days he remembered to be there.

“Can we come in?” I ask. “This isn’t a social visit.”

He nods quickly, wiping his hands again even though they’re already clean, and holds the screen door open for us with such careful courtesy....