Chapter 78: The Fragile Thread of Trust

The puzzle piece sat between my small fingers, its edges slightly worn from use. I stared at it for a long moment before finally placing it down next to the others. My father's hands were steady, carefully connecting the pieces, but I could tell he was waiting—waiting for me to pull away, to reject him like I had so many times before.

But I didn't.

My chest felt tight, my heart uncertain, but there was something about the way he was doing this—silent, patient, careful—not forcing me, not trying too hard. It wasn't like before. It wasn't like the moments where I felt trapped by his desperate attempts to be close.

I swallowed hard and reached for another piece. It was small, a tiny corner that fit just right, and I hesitated before handing it to him instead of placing it myself. My father blinked, his lips parting slightly in surprise. His hands trembled just a little as he took the piece from me, his eyes searching my face, but he said nothing.

Mama's arms around me tightened, her warmth anchoring me. I could feel her heartbeat against my back, steady and sure, as if she were reassuring me just by holding me close. My sisters were quiet, too, though I knew they were all watching, holding their breath like this was the most fragile moment in the world.

Maybe it was.

I wasn't sure why I had done it—why I had let him take the piece from my hand. Maybe because, just for tonight, I wanted to see what it felt like. Maybe because, for the first time in a long time, I wasn't afraid that he would take too much from me all at once.

"You're really good at this, Noah." His voice was soft, careful, like he was afraid to ruin the moment. "You always were."

I didn't answer, but I didn't flinch either. That was enough.

Piece by piece, the puzzle came together. The room felt warm, safe, filled with the quiet hum of my family's presence. My father's eyes softened every time I picked up another piece, every time I stayed instead of pulling away.

When we placed the last piece down, a picture of a bright blue sky spread across the table. My father exhaled slowly, and for a moment, he just stared at it, as if it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. But I knew it wasn't the puzzle he was looking at.

Mama pressed a kiss against my temple, her voice full of love. "My little prince, you did so well."

I felt a small, warm flutter in my chest at her words. Safe. Loved. Protected. The things I had come to trust.

And as I glanced at my father, I saw the way his hands were clenched together in his lap, like he was holding himself back from reaching out, from doing too much too soon. His eyes met mine for just a second, filled with something I couldn't quite name—hope, maybe.

I turned away, leaning into Mama's embrace. But I didn't leave the table. I didn't push him away.

Maybe, just maybe, that was enough for tonight.