It was not a cinematic ending. Leo didn’t magically regain his appetite overnight, and I didn’t stop feeling the guilt of my words. We started going to weekly family therapy sessions in town, learning how to talk about the past without letting it consume our present.

But we are making progress, slowly, day by day.

This morning was a Tuesday. I stood at the stove, frying two eggs in a little bit of butter. Leo walked into the kitchen, his hair messy from sleep. He didn’t look away from the counter. He reached out and picked up a piece of dry toast from the plate.

He took a bite. He chewed slowly, then looked up at me and gave me a small, tired smile. It was the best thing I had seen in years. We still have a long road ahead of us, but as I watched him eat, I knew we were finally moving forward.