Amelia slid him her phone. “I’ve booked the evaluation for next week,” she said. “We’ll go together.”

“We’ll all go,” Grace added, then flushed. “If that’s all right. Oliver asked me to come.”

“It’s more than all right,” Richard said. “Grace, you aren’t just our caretaker. You’re Oliver’s coach. And ours, apparently.”

Her smile wobbled. “Thank you.”

The school meeting came three days later. They sat in tiny chairs that made Richard’s knees ridiculous, and he listened to the teacher describe Oliver’s kindness, his quick engineering mind, his frustration when words felt like nets he couldn’t tear open. Grace spoke about rhythm and courage points. Amelia, with her precise calm, asked about accommodations: audiobooks, extra time, a chance to choose when to read aloud.

Then Oliver cleared his throat. From his pocket he pulled a note, crumpled at the edges. He looked at his father. “Can I?”

Richard nodded.