Michael’s sister, Anna, approached us, her eyes filled with remorse. “I’m so sorry about what happened. I should have said something then,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

I appreciated her honesty, but it didn’t erase what Sophie went through. “Thank you, Anna. Just be there for Sophie,” I replied, my tone softer than I intended.

The afternoon unfolded beautifully. Laughter echoed through the yard, and the scent of grilled burgers mingled with fresh-cut grass. Sophie bounced between activities, her giggles infectious. When she stumbled and scraped her knee, she didn’t cry. Instead, she looked up at us, reassured by our presence.

Later, as the sky turned a soft amber, Michael gathered everyone for cake. He lifted Sophie onto his shoulders, and she squealed in delight, her small hands resting securely on his head.