Faith
The sun was warm and bright over the north lawn, casting long golden light across the manicured grass. I was sitting on the edge of Noah’s bed, watching him carefully tie his shoe laces. He was getting better at it every day, his small fingers working through the loops with quiet focus.
Suddenly, he stopped and looked up at me with big, thoughtful brown eyes.
"Faith?" he asked softly.
"Yes, buddy?"
"Why don't families in this house eat or play together?"
The question felt like a small punch to my chest. I paused, resting my hands in my lap. "What do you mean, Noah?"
"In my storybooks, families sit together at big wooden tables," Noah said, staring down at his blue sneakers. "They laugh, and they eat ice cream, and they play tag in the grass. But Daddy is always in his study
