Ethan watched her — his heart in pieces. He’d done everything he could these past months to keep their lives together: packed lunches, bedtime stories, trying to braid her hair (badly). But this moment — watching her take her first step without her mom — felt like crossing an invisible line.

He knelt beside her. “Hey, peanut. Remember what we said? Be kind. Be brave. And if you get scared, just take a deep breath, like we practiced.”

Lily’s lips quivered. “Will you stay right outside?”

“I’ll be right there,” he promised.

When she finally let go of his hand, it felt like losing something precious all over again. He stepped out into the hallway, his back against the cool wall, and closed his eyes. For a few seconds, he just breathed — in, out, steady.

Then he peeked through the glass window.

Inside, Lily stood frozen near the door. The other kids had turned to look at her, curious and smiling. One little boy waved enthusiastically, and a girl patted the empty seat beside her. Mrs. Reynolds gave Lily a gentle nod of encouragement.

And slowly, almost shyly, Lily walked in.