\u201cNo,\u201d Richard said quickly. He faced Amelia. \u201cDon\u2019t go. You\u2019ve been filling the gaps I leave. That\u2019s not something you should do alone.\u201d<\/p>\n
Silence braided through the room. After a breath, Richard turned to Oliver. \u201cWhen I was your age,\u201d he said, \u201cI used to hide a paperback under the dinner table. I wanted to be the kid who finished first. But the lines would jump. The letters felt like bugs under a jar. I never told anyone.\u201d<\/p>\n
Oliver\u2019s head snapped up. \u201cYou?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI never had a name for it,\u201d Richard said. \u201cI just worked harder and got very, very good at pretending. It made me efficient.\u201d He huffed a small laugh. \u201cAnd impatient with anything that slowed the machine.\u201d<\/p>\n
Grace\u2019s eyes softened. \u201cIt can run differently, you know.\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked at her. At his son. At his wife. \u201cIt has to.\u201d<\/p>\n That evening they sat together at the kitchen island, calendars open like maps. Richard blocked off Wednesdays at six\u2014Dad and Ollie Club<\/em>\u2014in permanent ink. \u201cNo meetings,\u201d he said, half to his assistant who wasn\u2019t there, half to the part of himself that always found a way to squeeze one more call into an hour. \u201cNon-negotiable.\u201d<\/p>\n \n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/pilgrimjournalist.b-cdn.net\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/09\/54.png\")
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