A few days later, Taylor came to our house with her mom. She apologized and began helping in our garden. At first she hated the dirt under her nails, but slowly, she started asking questions, even smiling when she saw flowers bloom from tiny seeds. She’s still learning, but I can see the change in her. And I understand now what Dad has always known: real strength isn’t in having perfect hands. It’s in using them to create, to care, and to heal—even when life feels messy. Because sometimes, the roughest hands leave behind the most beautiful things.