You sit cross-legged on the living room rug, watching Hazel’s chubby little hands grip the edge of the coffee table. Her legs wobble like she’s not entirely sure they belong to her, and you can’t help but laugh softly.

“Come on, love,” Simon says from a few feet away. He’s crouched down, one big hand outstretched, the other braced against the floor for balance. His mask of patience is almost as firm as the way he plants himself there, waiting, steady as a tree.

Hazel glances back at you, as if to make sure you’re still watching. “You’ve got her,” you whisper, smiling. “Go on, baby. Go to Daddy.”

She lets go of the table. For a heartbeat, she just stands there, wide-eyed at her own bravery. Then she takes one step—then another.

Simon’s entire face softens when she finally topples forward into his arms. He catches her like he always does, with gentle certainty, as if he’d been ready to move the earth if she fell.

“You clever girl,” he says, kissing the top of her hair. Hazel giggles, proud of herself.