The boy was sitting on the living room floor building a small wooden birdhouse.
He had grown stronger.
His hair had begun returning, although some areas still looked different.
The healing marks on his cheek remained visible.
And he continued receiving appropriate follow-up care.
But he was back in school.
Playing with friends.
Laughing at jokes.
And arguing with his mother about whether vegetables counted as real dinner.
When he saw the biker enter, he smiled.
"Grandpa Biker!"
The old man stopped.
For a moment, he was overwhelmed by the sound of the nickname.
The boy hadn't used it during their earlier visits.
Now it came naturally.
The biker smiled.
"Hey, little man."
The child pointed toward the birdhouse.
"Look!"
The old man approached slowly.
Then crouched beside him.
The birdhouse was uneven.
One side leaned slightly.
A few nails had been placed crookedly.
And the blue paint extended beyond the edges of the roof.
The biker studied it.
"That's a fine birdhouse."
The boy frowned.
"It's crooked."
The old man smiled.
"Most things worth making take a little practice."
The child considered.
Then asked, "Can you help me fix it?"
The biker looked toward the mother.
She nodded gently.
He sat beside the boy.
They examined the birdhouse together.
The old man offered suggestions.
The child asked questions.
And they worked slowly, using suitable tools with the mother's supervision.
For a while, nobody mentioned the fire.
Nobody discussed responsibility.
The boy was simply building something with an old man who knew how to use his hands.
Then the child looked toward the biker.
"Can I ask you something?"
The old man paused.
"Of course."
The boy glanced toward the window.
"Do you still have the burned key?"
The biker felt his throat tighten.
"Yes."
The child nodded.
"Do you keep it because you're sad?"
The old man considered.
Then answered honestly.
"Partly."
The boy looked toward him.
The biker continued.
"But I also keep it to remember that I need to pay attention when something isn't right."
The child thought about that.
Then asked, "Does it make you feel bad every time?"
The old man nodded slowly.
"Sometimes."
The boy was quiet.
Then he looked toward the birdhouse.
"Maybe you should keep something happy too."
The biker blinked.
"What do you mean?"
The boy picked up a small blue wooden star left over from the craft kit.