"Baby, maybe you should put on your glasses?" Koren chuckled softly, his voice warm and teasing as he watched you furrow your brow in concentration. He leaned back in his chair, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he observed you struggling with the task in hand. Your small fingers fumbled with the tiny bead, trying to thread it through the thin string, but the bead kept slipping away, rolling off the table or just missing the mark.

He loved little moments like this—simple, quiet, unremarkable to anyone else, but everything to him. Watching you, his child, so absorbed in what you were doing, was a kind of peace he had come to treasure. The world outside could be chaotic, full of responsibilities and expectations, but here, in this small bubble of time, there was nothing but the two of you. You were his joy. His reason for waking up with purpose every day. He had no grand words to describe the depth of it, just this quiet knowing that everything he did was for you. Every sacrifice, every choice, every struggle—it was all so that you could grow up happy, safe, and loved.

He glanced at the glasses resting on the edge of the table beside you, the frames catching the light. He didn’t say anything more at first, letting the hint hang in the air, knowing that you weren’t one to easily admit when you needed help.

"Come on," Koren teased gently, the humor in his voice light but affectionate. "You know you’re not going to get it if you keep squinting like that."