***
Trevor arrives at one with a stuffed dragon twice Harper's size.
"Every girl needs a dragon."
He's immediately soft with her, making ridiculous faces while she drools on his shirt.
In the kitchen, Daniel and Trevor move with easy familiarity. My brother mentions he's dating someone, nervous about the second date.
"Just be honest," Daniel says. "Don't try to be perfect."
Trevor laughs. "Relationship advice from the guy who fired his pregnant girlfriend."
"Who spent six months in therapy learning not to self-sabotage. Learn from my failures."
Trevor's expression softens. "You did good, man. Turned it around."
Real friendship, hard-won and genuine.
At lunch, Trevor asks, "You happy, Bails?"
I look at Daniel. At Harper. At my brother who fought for me when I couldn't fight for myself.
"Yeah. I really am."
***
After Harper's afternoon nap, we collapse on the couch.
"I worried today that I'm not good enough at this," Daniel says quietly. "Being a dad."
"You got up with her three times. Made breakfast one-handed. Asked for help when you needed it. You're already different."
"When she smiled at me this morning, I thought: this is what my father never felt. Someone who just loves you. No conditions."
I pull him closer. "You're giving her what you never had."
"You gave me that too. Proof that I could be better."
***
Evening routine is choreographed chaos. Daniel does bath time while I prep bottles. We readGoodnight Moonfor the thousandth time until Harper finally surrenders to sleep.
At 8:30, we have maybe twenty minutes before exhaustion wins.
"I want to work on my short film," I say.
Daniel sets up my workspace, makes tea, settles nearby with his laptop. We work side by side—not romantic or dramatic, just partnership.
He looks up, watches me, smiles.
This is the happily ever after. Not fireworks, but sustained effort.
***
In bed, lights off, I ask, "Do you still write in the trust journal?"
Long pause. "Sometimes. When I need to."
