Rhys quickly put down his glass, leaned over the chessboard, and began to earnestly explain the rules to Felix.
He explained patiently, and Felix, his chin cupped in his hands, listened with a look of partial understanding, occasionally asking imaginative questions.
"Why does the knight have to move in an L-shape?" "Why can't the pawns move backward?"
Rhys answered each one patiently, with Clara's dad chiming in now and then.
Three generations huddled around the coffee table, the red and black chess pieces a jumbled mess from Felix's handling.
Clara sat nearby, occasionally glancing over at them.
He was truly, slowly, becoming part of the family again.
The evening news played on the television, the sky outside had grown completely dark, and the streetlights in the neighborhood began to switch on one by one.
The sound of Clara's mom lifting a pot lid came from the kitchen, followed by a call:
"Time to eat! Stop playing and come wash your hands!"
Felix was the first to jump up and run to the bathroom.
Clara's dad slowly gathered the chess pieces. A few had fallen under the chair, and since it was difficult for him to bend down, Rhys knelt on one knee and picked them up one by one.
As Clara walked past Rhys, she paused.
"Soak your hands in warm water for a bit longer. They're still cold," she said.
Rhys murmured in agreement and followed her to the bathroom.
Clara's mom put a piece of steak onto his plate.
Rhys looked down at the steaming soup in his bowl and held it with both hands. "Thanks, Mom."
His voice trembled slightly as he said the word "Mom."
Clara's mom's hands paused for a second before she turned away and wiped them on her apron.
"Alright, alright, hurry up and eat. It won't be good if it gets cold."
Felix, sitting in his high chair beside him, mumbled around a mouthful of steak, "Daddy, you have more meat in your plate than me."



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