Michael remained in the attic long after everyone had gone to sleep.
The old glove rested quietly in his hands.
Its leather had cracked with age.
Its once-bright stitching had faded into a dull brown.
Yet...
It was still in remarkably good condition.
He smiled to himself.
"You really lasted..."
His thumb brushed over the faded initials once again.
M.F.
His father had carved them there with a heated engraving tool nearly thirty years ago.
Back then...
He had been about Mio's age.
"...Darling."
A sweet voice echoed from behind him.
Michael looked over his shoulder.
Reina stood by the attic door, holding two steaming mugs.
"I thought I'd find you here."
Michael laughed quietly.
"...Was I that obvious?"
"You disappeared after dinner."
"I had a pretty good guess."
She handed him one of the mugs before sitting beside him.
For a while...
Neither of them spoke.
The silence wasn't awkward.
It never was.
"You noticed it too."
Reina finally broke the silence.
Michael nodded.
"He couldn't take his eyes off the baseball."
"He looked..."
She searched for the right word.
"...mesmerised."
"Exactly."
Michael looked back at the glove.
"You know..."
"I wasn't much older than him."
"My father took me to a park in California."
"There were teenagers playing catch."
"I remember standing exactly like Mio."
"...Unable to look away."
Reina smiled softly.
"I've heard that story."
"...Many times."
Michael chuckled.
"I guess I tell it a lot."
"It's one of your favourites."
"...Yeah."
"It is."
"My dad never forced me."
"He didn't buy me expensive equipment."
"He didn't ask whether I wanted to become a professional player."
"He simply asked..."
Michael smiled faintly.
"'Want to try?'"
"..."
"And somehow..."
"I never stopped."
Reina rested her head against his shoulder.
"So..."
"What are you going to do?"
Michael looked downstairs.
Where Mio's bedroom quietly waited.
"...Nothing."
"Hm?"
"I'll wait."
"If baseball really is something he loves..."
"He'll come to it himself."
"I don't want him to love it..."
"...because I do."
"I want him to love it..."
"...because he does."
Reina smiled.
"You're a good father."
Michael laughed.
"I don't know about that."
"You are."
"..."
"...I'm trying."
The following morning...
"Mio."
The little silver-haired boy looked up from the living room floor.
Michael crouched beside him.
"I need your help."
"...?"
"I'm cleaning the garage."
"There are too many boxes."
"I can't carry everything by myself."
"..."
Mio blinked.
"...Okay."
The garage smelled faintly of old wood and machine oil.
Cardboard boxes lined one wall.
Camping equipment occupied another.
Mio quietly helped move the smaller boxes one at a time.
Then...
His eyes landed on something.
Half-hidden beneath a canvas cloth.
A long black equipment bag.
"..."
He stopped walking.
Michael noticed immediately.
"Curious?"
A small nod.
Michael walked over.
Slowly unzipping the bag.
Inside...
Lay three baseball gloves.
A wooden bat.
Several scuffed baseballs.
Everything showed signs of years of use.
Not neglected.
Loved.
Mio quietly stared.
"..."
Without thinking...
He reached toward one of the gloves.
His fingertips brushed against the leather.
Warm.
Familiar.
His heart skipped again.
Michael didn't say a word.
He simply watched.
After several seconds...
Mio slowly looked up.
"...Dad."
"Yeah?"
"...Can I..."
He hesitated.
"...touch it?"
Michael smiled.
"You already are."
"..."
"...Right."
For the first time...
Mio let out a tiny laugh.
Michael picked up the smallest glove from the bag.
It wasn't new.
Far from it.
Its leather had softened over years of catches.
"My first glove was too big."
"My father bought this one later."
"It fits small hands."
He held it out.
"...Want to see if it fits?"
Mio looked at it.
Then at Michael.
Then back at the glove.
Slowly...
He slipped his hand inside.
It was still a little loose.
But...
Comfortable.
"..."
He opened and closed it once.
Twice.
The soft thump of the leather echoed through the quiet garage.
Something about that sound...
Made him smile again.
Michael noticed.
He didn't say anything.
He didn't need to.
That night...
Before going to bed...
Michael quietly sent a message.
Michael: Dad.
Michael: I think Anderson found baseball today.
Several minutes later...
His phone vibrated.
Dad: Took him long enough.
Michael laughed.
Michael: You knew?
Dad: Runs in the family.