Still, his son—little Leo—gave him a reason to keep going.
By the time Leo turned one year old, Daniel had built a strict routine around him. Every morning before work, he dressed the boy, packed a small bag, and dropped him off at a nearby nursery close to his office.
In the afternoon he would pick him up, bring him home, cook a simple dinner, bathe him, and rock him to sleep.
Once the apartment grew quiet, Daniel would open his laptop at the dining table and continue working late into the night.
The soft clicking of the keyboard was usually the only sound in the house.
One Saturday morning, Daniel was cleaning Leo’s room when he noticed something unusual.
The boy was standing in the corner.
His face was pressed gently against the wall.
He wasn’t crying.
He wasn’t moving.
