“So, your dad says you’re into astronomy,” I offered one night over dinner.
“Sometimes,” he replied.
“I used to love stargazing. Maybe we could—”
“I usually do that alone.”
Daniel gave him a pointed look. “Evan, be polite.”
“I am being polite, Dad.”
And he was. Technically. But he never let me in. He answered questions with a blank face, always using “ma’am” like I was a school principal, not someone trying to bond.
One night, I offered to help with his homework. He looked up and said flatly, “You’re not my mom.”
“I know,” I replied gently. “I’m not trying to be.”
He held my gaze for a moment, then turned back to his math. That wall between us never cracked.
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