Wrapped in a warm blanket, Ethan sat between his parents on the hospital bed. His tiny hand clutched Sophia's fingers, while his head rested gently on Adrian's shoulder.
"I'm not sick, right?" he whispered, his voice small.
"No, sweetheart," Adrian smiled gently, brushing back Ethan's damp hair. "Just tired and cold. But you're safe now."
Sophia looked away, wiping her tears.
Ethan noticed.
"Are you mad at me?" he asked her.
She shook her head, holding him tighter. "Never. I'm mad at myself. For making you feel like you had to run."
Adrian looked at both of them. "We didn't realize how much you were hurting, Ethan. We were so busy fighting for you… we forgot to listen to you."
Ethan nodded. "I just want us to be together. Like in the drawing."
Sophia closed her eyes. That ruined drawing. The crayon smiles. The hope of a child too small to understand custody and courtrooms.
But not too small to love.
Adrian looked at her then, really looked.
"We're not perfect, Sophia," he said softly, "but maybe we can start being a family… not for us, but for him."
She met his gaze—unsure, afraid, but willing.
"For him," she agreed.
Ethan looked between them, eyes wide. "Does that mean… you'll stop fighting?"
Adrian kissed his forehead. "We'll try our best, buddy."
And that night, under the hospital's pale light, a broken family took its first step toward healing.