I sneak a glance at him once, catching the way his attention shifts between the road ahead and us. He's still, composed, but something about him has changed.
Like he's observing something he didn't realize he was missing.
When we pull into the driveway, Henry is still mid-sentence, explaining the difference between two character builds in the game.
He cuts himself off when the car stops, suddenly aware of where we are.
"Thanks for picking me up," he says, looking at Arthur.
Arthur nods once. "You're welcome."
There's weight in those two words—acknowledgment without embellishment. Henry seems to understand that. He grabs his backpack and climbs out.
Henry gets out first, backpack slung over one shoulder, already headed toward the front door.
I follow, stepping down from the SUV, adjusting the strap of my bag.
The afternoon light catches the rhinestones, sending fractured reflections across the driveway. I used to love that—the way this bag announced me.
Now I’m noticing how often people look at it instead of me.
Arthur comes up behind me.
As we move toward the house, his hand settles at the small of my back—brief, steady, unmistakably protective.
My breath stutters.
The contact is light. Automatic. The kind of gesture someone makes without thinking, the way you steady something precious.
He removes his hand almost immediately, already focused on Henry, on the door, on what comes next.
To him, it's nothing.
A reflex. A habit.
To me, it's a problem.
Because if this is what it feels like when he's not trying—
I don't know how I'm supposed to keep my heart out of it.
***
Inside, the house settles around us.
Henry drops his backpack by the stairs, already asking if he can play his game before dinner. Arthur gives permission without hesitation. Henry disappears down the hall, footsteps fading into the quiet.
I stand in the entryway longer than necessary, watching Arthur remove his jacket with the same precision he applies to everything else.
He glances at me. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah." I force a smile. "Just thinking."
"About?"
I hesitate, then deflect. "About how much Henry lit up when we picked him up."
Arthur pauses, his jacket draped over one arm. He considers that carefully, like he's reviewing data he didn't expect to receive.
