“Look, Daddy, it likes Victoria!” she whispered.

Daniel took a picture of us on his phone.

When he showed it to me, I was surprised by how relaxed I looked.

The tired lines around my eyes seemed softer.

The fear of getting hurt was still there, a constant whisper in the back of my mind.

I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Daniel to realize I was too broken by my past.

But he never gave me a reason to doubt him.

He was always punctual, always polite, and always attentive to my thoughts.

On the third Saturday, a heavy rainstorm kept us indoors.

Daniel invited me to his home in Brookline for lunch.

The house was a cozy, older colonial with creaking floorboards and walls lined with framed architectural sketches.

“I designed this kitchen remodel myself,” he said, pouring hot water over tea bags.

“It’s beautiful,” I said, looking at the clean lines of the oak cabinets.

Chloe was in the living room, building a tower out of wooden blocks.

We sat at the kitchen island, the sound of rain tapping against the window pane.