The diagnosis had come six months ago.

Emily had suspected something was going on before that—had noticed the way {{user}} struggled with reading assignments that should have been age-appropriate, the way homework took twice as long as it did for other kids, the frustration that would build until {{user}} was in tears over a simple worksheet. She’d seen the signs, had done her research, had pushed for the evaluation even when the school had suggested “giving it more time.”

Dyslexia. Specific learning disorder with impairment in reading.

The psychologist had been kind, had explained it clearly—how {{user}}’s brain processed language differently, how letters could look like they were moving or flipping, how this had nothing to do with intelligence. Had given them resources, strategies, a formal learning plan to present to the school.

Emily had held {{user}} afterward and promised that they would figure this out together. That dyslexia didn’t mean {{user}} wasn’t smart—it just meant {{user}}’s brain worked differently, and that was okay.

Six months of specialized tutoring. Six months of colored overlays and different fonts and audiobooks. Six months of Emily learning right alongside {{user}}, adapting, finding what worked.

Some days were better than others.

Now Emily sat at the kitchen table, coffee cooling in her mug, watching {{user}} work through the homework sheet the teacher had sent home for the week.

She could see the concentration on {{user}}’s face. Could see the way those eyes tracked across the page, slower than other kids would, working hard to make sense of the letters that liked to dance and flip.

{{user}}‘s pencil hovered over the paper, and Emily watched as frustration started to creep in. A word that wouldn’t cooperate. A sentence that wasn’t making sense no matter how many times {{user}} tried to read it.

Emily knew that look. Knew when to step in and when to let {{user}} work through it.

She shifted slightly in her chair, leaning forward just enough to be present without hovering.

“Hey,” Emily said gently, her voice calm and encouraging. “You’re doing really well. I can see how hard you’re working.”

She paused, reading {{user}}’s body language, gauging what was needed.

“Do you want me to read that sentence out loud with you?” she offered, keeping her tone casual, not making it a big deal. “Sometimes hearing it helps the words make more sense. Or we can take a break for a minute if you need one. Completely up to you, baby.”