The house felt heavier after the courtroom.

Zaya’s laughter echoed through the nursery as if trying to drown out the sound of broken legacies and inherited lies. Adrian sat in the rocking chair, one hand resting lightly on the baby boy now nestled in his arms. The child was still adjusting—no crying, no laughing, just wide, silent stares.

We hadn’t named him yet.

Couldn’t.

Not until it all settled.

I sat across from them, watching father and son. Watching the impossible become ...