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“What?”

“You can’t just say stuff like that right before I have to go to class.”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “Why not?”

“Because now my eyes are gonna be all red and puffy, and I’m gonna look like I cried in the car.”

“Don’t,” he says, like it’s that simple.

“Wow, brilliant advice.” I blink hard, willing the tears back.

He huffs a soft laugh, but then his expression sobers, the amusement fading into something deeper. “He’d be proud of you, Kamden.”

I swallow around the sudden tightness in my throat. “I know.”

And I do.

I actually do.

That might be the biggest change of all.

I no longer need someone to convince me every day that Dad loved me, because the evidence is everywhere.

In old cards, photographs, and stories. In all the cracked pieces of my childhood Adrien helped me gather and treasure.

Most of all, maybe, in the fact that Dad knew Adrien well enough to ask him for one last impossible thing.

Take care of my boy.

Adrien was late. Very late. I don’t think either of us will ever pretend otherwise.

But he came. And now I’m outside design school with a stuffed rabbit in my backpack and my whole life waiting.

I push the car door open. A rush of air sweeps in, carrying the smell of cut grass.

Adrien leans forward instantly, one hand braced on the steering wheel. “Text me when you get inside.”

I can’t help but laugh. “There it is.”

“What?”

“I was wondering how long you could last without giving another order.”

“Text me,” he repeats, firmer this time.

“I will.”

“And after your first class.”

“Yes.”

“And when you eat lunch.”

“Okay.”

“And if—”

“Daddy.” My voice softens but doesn’t break.