Sebastian closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
“He was hungry.”
“I know.”
“He was scared.”
“I know.”
She looked at him.
“And still, he played.”
Sebastian’s throat tightened.
“He was braver than I ever was.”
Elena did not comfort him.
Not immediately.
Then she said, “Be useful with that.”
So he did.
Years passed.
Leo grew taller.
Elena grew stronger, though never fully free of what the lost years had cost her.
Sebastian learned fatherhood late and awkwardly.
He learned that money could buy medicine but not trust.
A room but not sleep.
Food but not the end of hiding bread under pillows.
He learned that apologies were not doors.
They were keys offered again and again until the person harmed decided whether to use them.
Sometimes Leo called him Sebastian.
Sometimes Dad.
Both were allowed.
One evening, Leo asked why Elena sent him to the terrace instead of the office.
Sebastian already knew the answer, but he let his son hear it from her.
Elena smiled sadly.
