He looked at the unfinished document on his desk.
It could wait ten minutes.
He stood.
Poppy went ahead, already explaining something about a kite that refused to behave.
He followed without asking her to shorten the story.
Months earlier, she called twelve times because every answer made her believe she was farther from being wanted.
Now she did not need to call at all.
He was home.
She knew where to find him.
That did not mean he would never leave, never work late, or never make another mistake.
It meant he had stopped asking systems, devices, and other adults to stand in for the work of being her father.
At the terrace door, Poppy paused.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“You know when I want you?”
He stopped beside her.
“What about it?”
“Sometimes it’s for something small.”
“I know.”
“Not a problem.”
“I know.”
“Just a thing.”
Cassian looked toward the garden.
The kite lay across two chairs.
Helena stood nearby holding a tangle of string and looking personally offended by it.
He turned back to his daughter.
“Small things count.”
Poppy studied him.
Then she smiled.
Not carefully.
Not as a way of earning the next answer.
She took his hand and pulled him outside.
The phone remained on the desk.
For once, it had nothing important to do.
