The sky is overcast that morning, as if it somehow knew that today is a big day.

In the apartment, there's a strange balance of excitement and chaos.

As always.

In the kitchen, Emma sat at the table, her legs pulled up onto the chair, arms wrapped tightly around them.

Her breakfast, a half-bitten piece of toast and a small bowl of strawberries remained untouched.

She says nothing.

As she often do when too much is going on inside her.

Lando is pacing through the hallway. “Where’s her water bottle?!”

“Here! In the dishwasher, in the back!" You call out.

“And where’s her backpack? I swear I put it right here last night!” Lando calls again.

He lifts the sofa cushions and even looks past the coat rack while holding her lunch box in one hand.

“Next to the washing machine! I put it there because her jacket’s still in the dryer!" You call back while trying to braid Emma's hair.

She sits quietly in front of you. Her brow is furrowed, her gaze nervously fixed on the floor.

“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” You ask gently.

She barely shrugs her shoulders.

“I…I don’t know how to do it…” She whispers.

“What do you mean, sweetie?” You ask softly.

She lets out a small sigh. “At school..there are so many kids. And they all talk so much. And I…I don’t like talking. Not in front of people.”

You gently brush your hand over her cheek. “You don’t have to be loud, Emma. Just be yourself. That’s enough.”

“But…what if the other kids don’t like me?” She whispers.

Just then, Lando comes in with her backpack and kneels down right in front of her.

“Do you know what I used to do when I got nervous before a kart race?” He asks gently.

Emma looks at him curiously and nod.

“I’d count my fingers. Really slowly.” He takes her Hand in his. Then, one by one, he taps her fingers. “One…two...three…And by five, I’d alway say to myself, ‘I can do this.’ And look where Daddy is now.”

Emma looks down at her hand, which is still in his.

Her fingers are small compared to his, but she lets him hold them, as if his voice alone would make everything a little warmer.

“I can do this…” She repeats softly, barely audible.

It's almost as if she's testing the words out, just to see how they feel coming out of her mouth.

Lando smiles, proudly. “Exactly. You don’t have to be loud to be strong.”

“And…what if I have to cry?” She asks whispering, her eyes flicking from Lando to you and back again.