I sit back. Grip the steering wheel until my knuckles go white.
She asked for space.
I drive away.
Week 10, Day 4
Saw her today. She looked happy. Didn't interrupt her happiness with my need for forgiveness.
***
"The Bailey Harper Fund is live," Lottie announces during our Monday meeting. "First scholarship applications are already coming in."
The scholarship fund. One of the few concrete things I could do. A fund for aspiring animators who can't afford formal training—named after Bailey's paper girl character, the one she showed me in that quiet moment between meetings, shy and hopeful about her real dreams.
I set it up six weeks ago. Fully funded for the next ten years. Enough to send a dozen students through animation programs annually.
The name still catches me off guard every time I hear it. Bailey's creation, helping others chase the dreams she had to defer.
"Good." I close the folder. "Let me know when we're ready to announce the first recipients."
My phone sits on my desk. I could text Bailey. Tell her about the scholarship. Let her know I was listening when she talked about animation, about dreams deferred, about kids who have to choose between art and survival.
I pick up the phone. Type:The scholarship is launching. Thought you'd want to know.
Stare at the message.
Delete it.
"You could tell her," Lottie says quietly.
"It's not for her approval. It's because it's the right thing to do."
Lottie looks surprised. The old Daniel would have made this announcement with a press release and flowers and some grand gesture demanding gratitude.
The new Daniel just does the work.
Week 10, Day6
Wanted to tell Bailey about the scholarship. Didn't. Trusting that doing the work is more important than announcing I'm doing the work.
***
"You've been distant today," Dr. Chen observes in session eighteen. "What's on your mind?"
I've been thinking about my mother.
Not the fire. Not her death. But her life. The way she stayed with my father despite everything—the violence, the control, the way he systematically destroyed everything beautiful about her.
"I always thought she was weak," I say finally. "For staying."
"And now?"
"Now I think maybe she was brave." The words feel foreign. "Trying to love someone as broken as my father."
"What changed your perspective?"
"Bailey tried to love me. I was broken like my father. She was brave like my mother."
