The city glittered beyond his windows. His phone buzzed with unread emails. His calendar was packed for months.
Yet the silence pressed down on him.
He kept seeing Eli’s flinch.
Lena’s swallowed cry.
And the laughter—how alive it had sounded before he walked in.
Before dawn, Daniel stood outside the twins’ room.
Inside, Eli and Lena sat on the floor, lining toy cars into perfect rows.
“Daddy?” Lena whispered when she saw him.
Daniel knelt.
The movement felt awkward. Unfamiliar.
“Can you show me your castle?” he asked.
Eli hesitated. “It’s gone.”
Daniel picked up a sheet from the bed.
“Then let’s build it again.”
Something shifted.
Days turned into weeks.
Daniel began coming home earlier. Sitting on the floor. Listening. Learning bedtime routines. Reading stories badly. Laughing when the twins corrected him.
Late at night, after the twins fell asleep inside their uneven little castle, Daniel would remain seated on the floor, the sheet glowing softly in the dim light.
That’s when the memories came.
Of his own childhood.
Of waiting.
Of silence.
One night, Lena reached out in her sleep.
“Daddy?” she murmured.
Daniel took her hand.
“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m not leaving.”
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