Three days rolled by.
Gabriel didn't push, and that's just how he is he gets the difference between leaving someone alone and giving up.
He cooked every night, flopped onto the couch next to Ethan, made sure to head to bed at the same time.
The apartment kept its usual rhythm. Nothing felt out of place.
But Richard's name sat with them, unspoken, like a letter nobody wanted to open.
On the fourth morning, Gabriel put his coffee down and said, "You should go see him."
Ethan kept his eyes on the sketchbook. "I'm working."
"You've been staring at the same blank page for forty minutes."
"Thinking counts as working."
Gabriel pulled up a chair and settled in, the kind of patience that says, I'm not going anywhere. "He called again yesterday."
"I know. I saw."
"Ethan."
"Gabriel." Ethan finally looked up, matching his tone perfectly. "I hear you. I'm just not ready."
"He's your father."
"I know exactly who he is."
