“You think I can do it differently?” I ask quietly.
“I know you can,” she says.
“Why?”
“Because you already are.”
I glance back at her.
“What does that mean?”
She nods toward the guitar.
“That.”
Then toward Jesse.
“And that.”
I swallow.
“That’s not fame,” I say.
“No,” she agrees. “It’s better.”
The words settle deep.
Because she’s right.
This—
This moment.
This quiet room.
This kid in my lap and this woman standing in front of me looking at me like I might actually be worth something?—
It matters more than any stage I’ve ever stood on.
More than any crowd I’ve ever played for.
More than any applause.
I strum the guitar again, softer this time.
The notes come out different.
Less sharp.
More grounded.
Like they belong here.
With them.
Jesse hums along, completely off-key.
I grin.
