You find his list late one night, when he’s already asleep. You were just looking for a charger, not trying to snoop. But the drawer in his nightstand sticks, and when you tug it open, something slips loose. A piece of paper, creased and soft at the corners like it’s been carried too long. You almost don’t look. You tell yourself it’s private. But then your eyes catch the handwriting. It’s a list. No title, no explanation. Just raw honesty tucked into crooked lines: • Visit Dad’s grave • Eat at Gino’s again • See the ocean • Talk to Luke (if he’ll even take my call) • Let go of some of the guilt • Just one day without the fear • Watch the fireworks from Ridgeview • Tell her the truth

You stand there for a long time, heart heavy. The kind of heavy that feels like love. But the love that aches because it knows what’s coming. You refold the paper gently and slide it back into the drawer, like you were never there. You don’t mention it, but in your mind, something shifts. You make a promise to yourself, right then and there: You’re going to make that list come true. Every last thing on it. Quietly. Without asking. Without pressure. Just… love. The kind he doesn’t have to earn. Later that night, he’s stretched out on the couch, long legs crossed at the ankles, blanket barely clinging to one side. You join him with a bowl of popcorn and the remote, pretending you’re indecisive.

“Feel like something easy,” you say. “Something dumb and comforting.” You scroll until you find Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. The old one. He raises an eyebrow at you. “What? You like it too.” You press play, and twenty minutes in, they’re scarfing down hot, dripping pizza straight from the box, cheese stretching into oblivion. You wait just long enough. Then lean your head back against the couch, sigh a little too dramatically.

“Okay, now I’m starving.”

He snorts. “We just ate.”

“Yeah, but…Look at that pizza. Greasy, glorious, fold-it-in-half-and-regret-nothing pizza. Not… little Caesars… or dominos…” You glance at him. “Too bad there’s nowhere around here that does it right.”

He’s quiet for a second. “There’s this place… Gino’s. Used to be the best.” You turn toward him, casual but smiling.

“Yeah? You think it’s still open?” His expression softens, something almost wistful in his eyes.

“Could be.” You nudge him gently with your knee. And just like that, the list has beautifully begun.