Our lives moved in parallel lines that never quite crossed.
I had told myself I didn’t mind.
Until tonight.
Tess followed me out of the kitchen without a sound.
Her small feet padded beside mine, matching my pace instinctively.
I could always tell where she was not just by sound, but by the subtle shifts in air and space around me.
Children didn’t always realize how much presence they carried.
I balanced my own plate carefully while she insisted on helping with the tray holding the other two. Her determination was quiet but firm.
At the long dining table, I heard her set everything down with deliberate precision.
No clatter.
Just soft, controlled placement after placement.
Mine went on the left side where I usually sat.
Rafael’s at the head.
Hers right beside mine.
Then came the chairs.
A soft scrape of wood against marble floor.
Another.
Then a third.
She was arranging things in order.
“Good job, Tess,” I whispered, warmth spreading through my chest before I could stop it.
I reached for her carefully, guiding her small hands. “Come here.”
She allowed me to help her climb into her seat, her body light and trusting as I lifted her just enough.
Once she was settled, I trailed my fingers along the table’s edge until I found my own place.
I sat down.
Folded my hands in my lap.
And waited.
It didn’t take long before I heard his footsteps.
My body reacted before my thoughts did.
My heart picked up speed.
Even without sight, I knew exactly when he entered the space.
