His hands reach down for his laces, fingers shaking so hard they keep missing the loops until he’s sawing out a curse beneath his breath with a bitter expression of hopelessness. But I’ve been a caretaker my entire life, and no amount of annoyance can keep me from kneeling before him and taking his hands in mine. “Focus on slowing your breathing,” I offer before he can open his mouth for another pitiful apology. My fingers are numb but make quick work of his laces and pull on the tongues so he can easily slip out of his skates.
My babies
