He no longer saw an employee.
He saw the woman who had given his son his life back.
Catherine watched from the window.
“Look at her,” she snapped. “Acting like she’s his mother.”
“She is,” Andrew said quietly. “The real one.”
It was their last conversation.
A week later, Catherine left.
No tears. No arguments. Just a slammed door.
Six months passed.
Ethan was walking.
Slowly, carefully—but on his own.
It was spring.
All three—Andrew, Lucy, and Ethan—walked along the path in front of the house.
The boy held their hands and shouted, “Look! I’m walking!”
Lucy wiped away tears.
Andrew leaned toward her. “Thank you. For my son. For everything.”
She smiled, her voice trembling. “He did it himself. I was just there.”
“No,” he said. “You taught both of us how to stand.”
Then he took her hand.
Not as an employer—but as a man who finally understood what home really meant.
Ethan looked up at them and burst out laughing.
“I told you—we’re a team!”
Andrew smiled.
For the first time in many years, he felt complete.
Not because of money.
Not because of power.
But because he had a family.
