4.5/5
Then, a new scene: his father alone, late at night, crying into his hands. Whispering, “I don’t know how to be enough for him. I’m so tired.” daddy4k crystal white
Then a little boy ran past Noah’s legs. It was himself, age five, clutching a crayon drawing. “Daddy! I made you a rocket ship!” It was himself, age five, clutching a crayon drawing
“You’re probably a grown man by now,” his father said, smiling with effort. “Maybe you have kids of your own. Maybe you’re angry at me for leaving. That’s okay. I just want you to know—I saw everything clearly when I looked at you. The tantrums, the report cards, the way you’d sneak books under the dinner table. All of it. And you were still the best thing these old eyes ever saw.” “Maybe you have kids of your own
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